t 


7. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 
After  the  portrait  by  G.  S.  Newton,  1823 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK 


OF 


GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 


TOGETHER    WITH    ABBOTSFORD    AND    OTHER    SELECTIONS 
FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


WASHINGTON   IRVING 


"  I  have  no  wife  nor  children,  good  or  bad,  to  provide  for. 
A  mere  spectator  of  other  men's  fortunes  and  adventures,  and 
how  they  play  their  parts  ;  which,  methinks,  are  diversely 
presented  unto  me,  as  from  a  common  theatre  or  scene." 

—  Burton. 


EDITED  WITH  COMMENTS,  NOTES,   BIBLIOGRAPHY,   AND 
TOPICS  FOR  STUDY,   BY 


H.  A.  DAVIDSON,  M.A. 


D.   C.    HEATH   &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON        NEW  YORK        CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,  1907, 
BY  D.  C.  HEATH  &  Co. 


IL3 


rs  zot> 
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EDITOR'S  NOTE 

THE  essays  in  this  edition  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  have  been 
selected  and  arranged  with  reference  to  their  usefulness  in  the 
secondary  school.  Irving  claims  our  attention  as  the  first 
American  to  win  distinction  in  the  field  of  letters  ;  this,  too, 
in  a  day  when  no  critic  looked  for  elegance  or  refinement  in 
the  writings  of  our  countrymen.  He  represents,  also,  a  dis 
tinct  period  in  the  history  of  American  letters,  and  his  writ 
ings  had  marked  influence  in  the  group  of  literary  men  who 
first  gave  direction  to  the  American  press.  In  arrangement, 
Irving's  essays  approach  the  narrative  form.  This,  in  itself, 
wakens  interest,  and  the  personal  charm  of  the  author  is  such 
that  young  and  old,  alike,  find  in  him  a  companion  and  guide. 
There  is,  moreover,  a  fine  literary  quality  in  his  writings,  and 
the  flavor  of  an  older,  quieter  mood  of  mind  gives  them  per 
ennial  charm.  His  style,  modelled  in  a  measure  upon  the 
writings  of  Goldsmith  and  of  Addison,  is  very  different  from 
that  of  any  writer  of  our  own  day  ;  many  of  his  essays  are 
reminiscent  and  reflective,  and  his  vocabulary  includes  scores 
of  words  or  phrases  that  in  these  hustling  days  of  train  and 
phone  have  given  place  to  more  concise,  direct  forms  of  ex 
pression.  For  these  reasons,  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
essays  of  "The  Sketch-Book,  "  and  through  them  with  the 
genial,  cultivated  man  of  letters  who  was  their  author,  is  to 
the  young  a  first  step  in  liberal  culture. 

In  his  own  generation  Irving  was,  typically,  the  traveller 
and  the  man  of  letters.  It  has  been  the  purpose  of  editor 
and  publishers  to  include  in  this  edition  such  essays  as  best 
represent  the  man  in  these  aspects,  and  also  to  illustrate  the 
forms  of  writing  in  which  he  excelled.  The  two  forms  of  com 
position  typically  presented  in  "The  Sketch-Book,"  namely, 
the  narrative  essay  of  travel  or  of  literary  research,  and  the  ro 
mantic  tale  in  which  the  form  of  the  narrative  differs  but  little 
from  the  essay,  are  especially  adapted  to  aid  indirectly  the 

iii 


IV  INTRODUCTION 

young  student  who  would  try  his  pen  upon  broader  themes  than 
those  of  the  schoolboy's  compositions.  (The  essay  becomes 
narrative  in  form  by  the  introduction  of \he  author,  who  re 
lates  as  personal  experience  the  observations  of  the  traveller ; 
the  narrative  essay,  in  turn,  becomes  the  tale  by  changes  so 
slight  that  the  reader  scarcely  realizes  where  he  lost  sight  of 
his  guide,  the  story-teller,  and  became  absorbed  in  complex 
influences  working  together  toward  an  end/  The  material 
in  either  is  matter  of  such  common  experience  that  a  score  of 
parallel  subjects  on  which  he  may  try  his  amateur  pen  come 
at  once  to  the  mind  of  the  would-be  writer. 

The  essays  included  have  been  arranged  in  a  sort  of  se 
quence  that  students  may  the  more  readily  attain  familiarity 
with  English  scenes  and  their  historic  or  literary  associations, 
and  thus  share  the  mood  of  mind  in  which  Irving  wrote. 
"  Abbotsford  "  has  been  added  on  account  of  the  special  interest 
of  this  essay  to  readers  of  "Ivanhoe"  and  "The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  or  of  "Marmion"  and  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Min 
strel,"  and  also  because  the  literary  pilgrimage  narrated  in  it 
took  place  immediately  after  Irving's  residence  in  St.  Bar 
tholomew's  Close,  London.  It  belongs,  therefore,  to  the 
period  of  '(The  Sketch-Book, "  and  was  intimately  a  part 
of  the  experiences  from  which  Irving  drew  his  essays./ 
Courtesy  to  a  living  author  whose  hospitality  he  had  en 
joyed  prevented  the  use  of  this,  the  most  interesting  of  all 
his  literary  pilgrimages,  as  a  part  of  "The  Sketch-Book." 
A  few  other  selections  from  Irving's  writings  have  also  been 
added  on  account  of  their  close  relation  to  one  or  another  of 
the  essays. 

A  word  may  be  said  in  regard  to  the  illustrations  of  this 
edition.  The  scholarship  and  enthusiasm  devoted  to  instruc 
tion  in  the  classics  long  since  secured  editions  of  well-known 
texts  in  which  the  illustrations,  notes,  etc.,  were  drawn  from 
the  latest  and  best  sources  in  archaeology  or  in  history ;  the 
skill  of  the  artist  has  adorned  the  pages  and  at  the  same  time 
given  accurate  and  reliable  impressions  of  real  objects:  Caesar's 
bridge,  reconstructed  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  engineer ; 
a  Roman  camp  laid  out  to  line  and  rule  and  estimated  for 


INTRODUCTION  V 

numbers;  the  route  of  the  ten  thousand, — each  and  all — have 
long  illustrated  and  vitalized  the  work  of  high  school  students 
in  the  classics.  In  editions  for  the  study  of  English  texts  the 
contrast  is  such  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  point  the  moral.  In 
the  present  edition  of  "The  Sketch-Book,"  an  attempt  has 
been  made,  necessarily  limited  and  experimental,  to  associate 
with  an  English  classic  illustrations  that  present  places  and 
objects  faithfully  and  with  historical  accuracy,  and  thus  to 
add  significance  to  the  text.  The  illustrations  for  West 
minster  Abbey,  for  instance,  were  selected  after  Irving's 
route  through  the  enclosure  and  minster  had  been  traced; 
this  indicated  the  positions  from  which  he  viewed  the  Abbey 
and  made  it  possible  to  select  illustrations  which  correspond 
with  his  point  of  view  and  present  in  visible  form  the  mental 
picture  from  which  he  wrote.  This  correspondence  between 
illustrations  and  objects  as  really  seen,  renders  the  descriptive 
passage  virtually  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  composition,  since  the 
student  at  once  compares  the  written  expression  with  the 
picture. 

A  word  should  be  added  in  regard  to  the  use  of  the  "Topics 
for  Study  "which  follow  the  text.  They  are  in  no  sense 
outlines  or  analyses  of  the  contents  of  the  essays;  outlines 
should  be  prepared  by  the  students  themselves  under  the 
guidance  of  the  instructor,  for  an  analysis  furnished,  or  sug 
gested,  usually  proves  a  substitute  for  individual  work.  The 
topics  for  study  hold,  however,  a  close  relation  with  outline 
or  analysis;  and  the  detailed  study  of  special  topics  should 
guide  each  one  through  his  own  work  to  an  understanding  of 
the  plan  of  the  essay  and  an  appreciation  of  the  literary 
means  employed  to  give  it  orderly  arrangement  and  charm. 
The  teacher  in  his  own  preparation  for  the  classroom  will 
parallel  the  preliminary  work  of  the  editor ;  after  which  the 
study  topics  will  serve  as  tests  of  the  work  planned  and  will 
suggest  questions  for  discussion.  They  should  also  aid  pupils 
in  the  preparation  of  lessons  by  stimulating  alert  attention 
and  interest  in  the  reading  of  the  text,  and  by  emphasizing 
points  of  significance  in  the  content  or  the  literary  form  of  the 
essay  under  consideration. 


VI  INTRODUCTION 

The  use  of  the  technical  terms  of  narrative  art  has  been 
avoided  where  possible.  The  pupils  for  whom  this  edition  is 
designed  are  reading  for  the  sake  of  the  literature  itself,  and 
they  slip,  too  easily,  on  the  least  excuse,  into  the  formalities 
of  text-book  distinctions,  without  appreciation  of  the  mean 
ing  intended.  Literature  should  be  opened  to  their  under 
standings  as  a  storehouse  of  treasures  to  be  enjoyed  at  will; 
as  a  foreign  land  wherein  one  wanders  with  friendly  and 
companionable  guides ;  as  a  return  to  past  ages,  and  a  min 
gling  in  vanished  scenes,  recreated  by  the  magic  pen  of  the 
man  of  letters.  Unless  these  topics  for  study,  arranged  in 
seeming  routine  for  the  classroom,  contribute  to  this  end, 
they  will  fail  of  the  result  to  further  which  they  have  been 
written. 

The  indirect  purposes  of  the  study  of  Irving's  essays  will 
best  fulfill  themselves  under  the  personal  guidance  of  the 
instructor.  They  should,  however,  be  clearly  defined,  and 
may  be  summarized  briefly  as  follows:  — 

1.  Familiarity  with  an  author  and  a  period  in  the  history 
of  American  literature. 

2.  An  elementary  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  observation, 
the  sources  and  gathering  of  material,  and  the  method  of  work 
of  a  writer  of  essays,  travel,  and  picturesque  history. 

3.  Familiarity  with  the  narrative  form  of  essay  through 
examples,  and   through    constant  attempts   to  write  in  a 
similar  vein. 

4.  Familiarity  with  the  short  story  in  the  form  of  historical 
narrative,  —  a  literary  form  differing  but  slightly  from  that 
of  the  narrative  essay,  as  that,  in  turn,  is  distinguished  from 
description  pure  and  simple,  by  the  introduction  of  the  least 
possible  element  of-  personal  interest,  or  of  sequence  in  time. 
These  three  closely  related  literary  forms  and  the  character 
istics  distinguishing  each  have  been  emphasized  in  comments, 
suggestions,  and  topics  for  study,  and  in  them  is  found  the 
chief  significance  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  for  the  student  of 
literary  art. 

5.  Increase  of  the  student's  vocabulary,  and  familiarity 
with  phrases  and  with  the  forms  of  literary  expression.     This 


INTRODUCTION  Vll 

result  should  be  gained  indirectly,  if  possible,  by  the  aid  of 
books  of  reference,  parallel  reading,  etc. 

Study  of  vocabulary  must  be  effectively  done  to  be  of 
value.  The  pupil,  seeking  carelessly  in  dictionaries  for  a 
narrow  interpretation  of  word  or  phrase,  rarely  adds  to  his 
own  too  limited  means  of  expression.  Nor  is  the  definition 
of  unusual  or  obsolete  words  of  special  value.  The  writing 
vocabulary  of  the  pupil  must  be  increased  chiefly  by  drawing 
into  habitual  use  words  already  familiar  and  well  understood 
when  seen  in  context ;  the  reading  vocabulary,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  increased  by  additions  to  the  number  of  words  easily 
contributing  to  the  meaning  of  the  sentence  in  which  they 
are  found.  For  the  young  student,  the  important  things  are 
the  clear  distinction  in  meaning  between  words  almost,  but 
not  quite,  equivalent,  and  the  drawing  into  habitual  use  of 
many  common  words  and  phrases  which  will  afford  the  means 
of  varied  expression.  Nothing,  however,  calls  for  more  inven 
tive  and  persistent  effort  on  the  part  of  the  instructor  than  the 
study  of  vocabulary,  for  the  moment  that  this  task  is  made 
a  feature  of  the  recitation  the  attention  of  teacher  and  class, 
alike,  declines  upon  a  series  of  miscellaneous  and  unrelated 
definitions,  or  bits  of  information,  and  thus  the  minds  of  all 
are  hopelessly  diverted  from  the  content  and  literary  value 
of  the  text.  The  study  of  vocabulary  should  never  be  min 
gled  with  the  study  of  content  or  of  literary  form,  but  it  may 
be  made  the  subjectof  a  single  lesson  at  the  conclusion  of  each 
essay.  One  method  for  this  study  is  suggested  here :  the 
essay  may  be  divided  into  sections  and  assigned  to  divisions  of 
the  class  for  examination  and  report.  Definite  topics  should 
be  suggested,  such  as  a  list  of  all  words  the  pupils  is  unable  to 
define  without  the  aid  of  a  dictionary ;  a  list  of  all  words  that 
he,  himself,  is  not  in  the  habit  of  using  and  that,  for  this  rea 
son,  seem  unfamiliar,  —  for  these  he  should  be  required  to 
suggest  the  word  he  would  use  in  place  of  the  one  he  has 
noticed,  this  should  lead  to  discussion  of  use  and  meaning; 
a  list  of  words  for  which  one  or  more  equivalents  might  be 
suggested,  with  reasons  for  the  change ;  and,  finally,  a  list  of 
phrases  for  which  a  single  word  could  be  substituted  or  of 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION 

sentences  that  could  be  made  clearer  or  more  effective  by 
rearrangement,  or  that  could  be  shortened  without  loss  of 
significance  or  of  that  literary  transition  from  idea  to  idea 
which  is  so  marked  a  feature  of  Irving's  style. 

It  is  unnecessary  here  to  call  attention  to  Irving's  indebted 
ness  to  other  authors;  references  to  older  essays  that  may 
have  furnished  hints  for  his  own  composition  are  occasionally 
given  in  the  notes.  In  Goldsmith's  four  essays  on  Sir  John 
Falstaff  and  The  Boar's  Head  Tavern  in  Eastcheap,  for  in 
stance,  may  be  found  the  germ  of  Irving's  researches  and 
reflections  on  the  same  themes ;  and  the  curious  may  discover 
in  such  papers  as  Goldsmith's  "An  Account  of  Westminster 
Abbey, "  or  Addieon's  "  Reflections  in  Westminster  Abbey,"  a 
reason,  at  least,  for  the  choice  of  subject,  and  a  suggestion  of 
the  temper  of  mind  in  which  it  was  approached  by  our  travel 
ler  and  citizen  of  the  world.  But  the  study  of  Irving's 
originality,  or  of  his  accuracy  as  an  observer  or  antiquarian, 
is  one  for  older  students  and  critics.  The  perennial  charm  of 
the  first  American  humorist  land  man  of  letters  must  lie  for  us 
all  in  his  own  personality,  in  his  gift  of  lending  for  the  nonce 
an  attitude  of  mind  and  a  mood,  so  that  we  each  find  in 
foreign  lands  and  far-away  times  an  experience  in  which  his 
tory,  association,  and  emotion  unite  in  an  indelible  impression 
on  the  mind. 

The  editor  wishes  to  acknowledge  indebtedness  to  many, 
persons  who  have  given  aid  in  the  detail  of  the  present 
edition;  especially  to  Mr.  George  Turner  Phelps,  of  Cam 
bridge,  Massachusetts,  a  most  careful  student  of  art,  for  the 
tracing  of  Irving's  route  as  shown  in  his  order  of  description, 
and  for  the  selection  of  illustrations  and  references  for 
"Westminster  Abbey."  It  is  due  to  Mr.  Phelps's  intel 
ligence  and  generous  expenditure  of  time  that  the  illus 
trations  represent  the  minster  and  school  as  Irving  saw 
them,  for  considerable  restorations  and  changes  have  since 
taken  place.  H.  A.  DAVIDSON. 


THE  PUBLICATION  OF   "THE  SKETCH-BOOK" 

THE  papers  of  "The  Sketch-Book,"  with  two  exceptions, 
were  written  in  England.  Irving  sent  them  to  the  United 
States  for  publication  and  they  were  issued  in  numbers,  in 
1819-1820.  He  had  not  intended  to  reprint  the  essays  in 
England,  as  he  thought  them  little  likely  to  interest  readers 
there ;  he  admits,  also,  that  he  had  no  wish  to  encounter  the 
severe  criticism  of  the  British  press,  at  that  time  especially 
hostile  to  anything  from  America.  The  second  number,  how 
ever,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Godwin,  the  author  of  "Caleb 
Williams,"  who  found  in  it  essays  such  as,  in  his  opinion,  "few 
Englishmen  of  that  time  could  have  written."  Ten  days 
after  the  date  of  Godwin's  letter,  the  London  Literary 
Gazette  began  to  republish  the  essays  of  "The  Sketch-Book" 
serially,  and  their  success  wras  immediate.  In  a  short  time 
it  became  necessary  that  Irying  should  assume  the  responsi 
bility  for  the  republication  of  his  own  essays  in  order  to  pro 
tect  himself.  He  applied  first  to  Murray,  who  declined  the 
honor.  A  little  later,  in  January,  1820,  he  made  a  contract 
with  a  publisher  named  Miller,  and  volume  one  was  brought 
out  in  February.  It  sold  rapidly,  but  just  when  success  and 
profits  seemed  secure  the  publisher  failed.  At  this  juncture, 
Walter  Scott,  who  had  come  to  London  to  assume  his  title, 
induced  Murray  to  undertake  the  publication  of  Irving's 
works.  The  success  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  in  England  was 
such  that  in  October  of  the  same  year  Murray  wrote  to  Irving, 
begging  him  to  draw  on  the  house  for  one  hundred  guineas 
in  addition  to  the  terms  agreed  upon  in  the  contract,  and  in  the 
following  June  he  again  paid  the  author  a  sum  in  excess  of 
the  agreement.  This  was  the  beginning  of  Irving's  success 
as  a  man  of  letters,  and  thereafter,  whatever  he  found  time 
to  write  was  eagerly  welcomed  and  brought  him  both  honor 
and  profit  in  generous  measure. 

ix 


X  INTRODUCTION 

In  Blackwood's  Magazine,  February,  1820,  "A  Royal  Poet" 
and  "The  Country  Church"  were  quoted  in  full  from  number 
three  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  with  the  following  comment  on 
the  style  of  the  writing :  — 

The  style  in  which  this  ["  A  Royal  Poet "]  is  written  may  be  taken  as 
a  fair  specimen  of  Irving 's  more  serious  manner  —  it  is,  we  think 
very  graceful  —  infinitely  more  so  than  any  piece  of  American  writing 
that  ever  came  from  any  other  hand,  and  well  entitled  to  be  classed 
with  the  best  English  writing  of  our  day.  .  .  .  Nothing  has  been 
written  for  a  long  time  for  which  it  would  be  more  safe  to  promise 
great  and  eager  acceptance.  The  story  of  "Rip  Van  Winkle,"  — 
the  "Country  Life  in  England,"  the  account  of  his  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic,  and  "The  Broken  Heart,"  —  are  all,  in  their  several 
ways,  very  exquisite  and  classical  pieces  of  writing,  alike  honorable 
to  the  intellect  and  the  heart  of  their  author. 

In  the  July  number  of  Blackwood's  Magazine  of  the  same 
year,  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York"  was  reviewed, 
and  this  tribute  to  the  author's  genius  was  added :  — 

Mr.  Washington  Irving  is  one  of  our  first  favorites  among  the 
English  writers  of  this  age  —  and  he  is  not  a  bit  less  so  for  having  been 
born  in  America.  .  .  .  He  well  knows  that  his  "thews  and  sinews" 
are  not  all,  for  which  he  is  indebted  to  his  English  ancestry.  .  .  .  The 
great  superiority  over  too  many  of  his  countrymen,  evinced  by  Mr. 
Irving  on  every  occasion,  when  he  speaks  of  the  manners,  the  spirit, 
the  faith  of  England,  has,  without  doubt,  done  much  to  gain  for  him 
our  affection.  But  had  he  never  expressed  one  sentiment  favorable 
to  us  or  to  our  country,  we  should  still  have  been  compelled  to  confess 
that  we  regard  him  as  by  far  the  greatest  genius  that  has  arisen  on  the 
literary  horizon  of  the  new  world. 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF  "THE  SKETCH-BOOK  * 
OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 

(Originally  issued  in  numbers  in  New  York,  and  reprinted  in  England.) 

Number  One,  published  May  15,  1819. 

The  Author's  Account  of  Himself. 

The  Voyage. 

Roscoe. 

The  Wife. 

Rip  Van  Winkle. 


INTRODUCTION  Xi 

Number  Two,  published  in  July,  1819. 
English  Writers  on  America. 
Rural  Life  in  England. 
The  Broken  Heart. 
The  Art  of  Book  Making. 

Number  Three,  published  September  13,  1819. 
A  Royal  Poet. 
The  Country  Church. 
The  Widow  and  Her  Son. 
The  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  Eastcheap. 

Number  Four,  published  November  10,  1819. 
The  Mutability  of  Literature. 
The  Spectre  Bridegroom. 
Rural  Funerals. 

Number  Five,  published  in  December,  1819. 
Christmas. 
The  Stage-Coach. 
Christmas  Eve. 
Christmas  Day. 
The  Christmas  Dinner. 

Number  Six,  published  in  March,  1820. 
The  Pride  of  the  Village. 
The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 
John  Bull. 

Number  Seven,  published  September  13,  1820. 
Westminster  Abbey. 
Stratf  ord-on- A  von . 
Little  Britain. 
The  Angler. 

Reprinted  in  the  English  edition  from  the  Analectic  Maga 
zine,  New  York. 
Traits  of  Indian  Character. 
Philip  of  Pokanoket. 


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Organization  of  firm  of  P.  and  E. 
Irving,  New  York.  P.  Irving  and 
Company  (Washington  Irving), 
London. 
Travel.  Washington,  D.C. 

Resident  in  New  York. 
Aide  to  Governor  Tompkins. 
Travel.  To  Sackett's  Harbor,  Lake 
Champlain,  etc. 

In  New  York  and  Philadelphia. 
May.  Sailed  for  Liverpool.  In 
England.  In  Liverpool,  with 
Peter;  in  Birmingham,  with 
sister,  Mrs.  Henry  Van  Wart. 
Travel.  Excursions  to  Kenilworth, 
Warwick,  Stratford-on-Avon, 
Wales,  etc. 
In  Liverpool  and  Birmingham. 
Travel.  Excursions,  especially  in 
Derbyshire.  Beginning  of  diffi 
culties  in  business. 
In  charge  of  office  in  Liverpool. 
Travel.  Excursion  in  Wales.  In 
August,  three  weeks  in  London; 
in  September,  excursion  to  Scot 
land,  Abbotsford. 

Bankruptcy  of  Irving  Brothers. 
(Cause,  War  of  1812.) 
August.  Went  to  London  to  enter 
on  the  profession  of  letters. 

1  Declined  *a  position  in  the  Navy 
department,  Washington. 

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THE  AUTHOR'S   APOLOGY   FOR 
"THE    SKETCH-BOOK" 

A  FEW  words  from  the  Prospectus  of  the  first  edition  seem 
a  most  fitting  introduction  to  "The  Sketch-Book." 

"The  following  writings  are  published  on  experiment; 
should  they  please  they  may  be  followed  by  others.  The 
writer  will  have  to  contend  with  some  disadvantages.  He  is 
unsettled  in  his  abode,  subject  to  interruptions,  and  has  his 
share  of  cares  and  vicissitudes.  He  cannot,  therefore,  prom 
ise  a  regular  plan,  nor  regular  periods  of  publication.  Should 
he  be  encouraged  to  proceed,  much  time  may  elapse  between 
the  appearance  of  his  numbers ;  and  their  size  will  depend  on 
the  materials  he  may  have  on  hand.  His  writings  will  par 
take  of  the  fluctuations  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings  — 
sometimes  treating  of  scenes  before  him,  sometimes  of  others 
purely  imaginary,  and  sometimes  wandering  back  with  his 
recollections  to  his  native  country.  He  will  not  be  able  to 
give  them  that  tranquil  attention  necessary  to  finished  com 
position  ;  and  as  they  must  be  transmitted  across  the  Atlantic 
for  publication,  he  will  have  to  trust  to  others  to  correct  the 
frequent  errors  of  the  press.  Should  his  writings,  however, 
with  all  their  imperfections,  be  well  received,  he  cannot  con 
ceal  that  it  would  be  a  source  of  the  purest  gratification ;  for 
though  he  does  not  aspire  to  those  high  honors  which  are 
the  rewards  of  loftier  intellects,  yet  it  is  the  dearest  wish  of 
his  heart  to  have  a  secure  and  cherished,  though  humble 
corner  in  the  good  opinions  and  kind  feelings  of  his  country 
men." 


xvii 


"  SUNNYSIDE,"   THE  HOME  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


CONTENTS 

I.     IRVING,   THE   TRAVELLER,   IN  RURAL 
ENGLAND 

PAGE          s* 

THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIMSELF    .         .         .         .         .  I''"" 

THE  VOYAGE 4  v 

RURAL  LIFE  IN  ENGLAND        .......  11 

THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH    ........  19 

THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON 25 

CHRISTMAS 37 

THE  STAGE  COACH           ........  43 

CHRISTMAS  EVE        .........  50 

CHRISTMAS  DAY 62 

THE  CHRISTMAS  DINNER          .......  76 

II.     IRVING,    THE   MAN   OF  LETTERS,    IN  LONDON 

AND  ELSEWHERE 

LITTLE  BRITAIN        .........  91 

A  SUNDAY  IN  LONDON 110 

LONDON  ANTIQUES  .........  112 

THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP        .         .         .         .121 

WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 136 

THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE           .....  149 

JOHN  BULL 162 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON         .         .       V^^ 174 

ABBOTSFORD 197 

xix 


XX  CONTENTS 


III.     IRVING,    THE   STORY-TELLER 

PAGE 

RIP  VAN  WINKLE 257 

THE  LEGEND  or  SLEEPY  HOLLOW           .....  288 

THE  INN  KITCHEN 331 

THE  SPECTRE  BRIDEGROOM      .......  334 

L'ENVOY 350 

TOPICS  FOR  STUDY 353 

NOTES 387 

BIBLIOGRAPHY          .........  411 

IRVING'S  APPENDIX                            416 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIMSELF 

"  I  am  of  this  mind  with  Homer,  that  as  the  snaile  that  crept  out  of 
her  shel  was  turned  eftsoons  into  a  toad,  and  thereby  was  forced  to 
make  a  stople  to  sit  on ;  so  the  traveller  that  straggleth  from  his  owne 
country  is  in  a  short  time  transformed  into  so  monstrous  a  shape  that 
he  is  faine  to  alter  his  mansion  with  his  manners,  and  to  live  where 
he  can,  not  where  he  would." —  LYLY'S  EUPHUES. 

1.  I  was  always  fond  of  visiting  new  scenes,  and  observing 
strange  characters  and  manners.     Even  when  a  mere  child  I 
began  my  travels,  and  made  many  tours  of  discovery  into 
foreign  parts  and  unknown  regions  of  my  native  city,  to  the 
frequent  alarm  of  my  parents,  and  the  emolument  of  the  town- 
crier.    As  I  grew  into  boyhood,  I  extended  the  range  of  my 
observations.     My  holiday  afternoons  were  spent  in  rambles 
about  the   surrounding   country.     I   made   myself  familiar 
with  all  its  places  famous  in  history  or  fable.     I  knew  every 
spot  where  a  murder  or  robbery  had  been  committed,  or  a 
ghost  seen.     I  visited  the  neighboring  villages,  and  added 
greatly  to  my  stock  of  knowledge  by  noting  their  habits  and 
customs,  and  conversing  with  their  sages  and  great   men. 
I  even  journeyed  one  long  summer's  day  to  the  summit  of 
the  most  distant  hill,  whence  I  stretched  my  eye  over  many  a 
mile  of  terra  incognita,  and  was  astonished  to  find  how  vast  a 
globe  I  inhabited. 

2.  This  rambling  propensity  strengthened  with  my  years. 
Books  of  voyages  and  travels  became  my  passion,  and  in  de 
vouring  their  contents,  I  neglected  the  regular  exercises  of  the 
school.     How  wistfully  would  I  wander  about  the  pier-heads 
in  fine  weather,  and  watch  the  parting  ships,  bound  to  distant 
climes ;  with  what  longing  eyes  would  I  gaze  after  their  les 
sening  sails,  and  waft  myself  in  imagination  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth ! 

1 


2  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

3.  Further  reading  and  thinking,  though  they  brought  this 
vague  inclination  into  more  reasonable  bounds,  only  served  to 
make  it  more  decided.    I  visited  various  parts  of  my  own  coun 
try;   and  had  I  been  merely  a  lover  of  fine  scenery,  I  should 
have  felt  little  desire  to  seek  elsewhere  its  gratification,  for  on 
no  country  have  the  charms  of  nature  been  more  prodigally 
lavished.     Her  mighty  lakes,   like  oceans  of  liquid  silver, 
her  mountains,  with  their  bright  aerial  tints;    her  valleys, 
teeming  with  wild  fertility ;  her  tremendous  cataracts,  thun 
dering  in  their  solitudes ;   her  boundless  plains,  waving  with 
spontaneous  verdure ;  her  broad  deep  rivers,  rolling  in  solemn 
silence  to  the  ocean;   her  trackless  forests,  where  vegetation 
puts  forth  all  its  magnificence ;   her  skies,  kindling  with  the 
magic  of  summer  clouds  and  glorious  sunshine ;  —  no,  never 
need  an  American  look  beyond  his  own  country  for  the  sublime 
and  beautiful  of  natural  scenery. 

4.  But  Europe  held  forth  the  charms  of  storied  and  poetical 
association.    There  were  to  be  seen  the  masterpiece  of  art, 
the  refinements  of  highly  cultivated  society,  the  quaint  pecu 
liarities  of  ancient  and  local  custom.     My  native  country  was 
full  of  youthful  promise :  Europe  was  rich  in  the  accumulated 
treasures  of  age.     Her  very  ruins  told  the  history  of  times  gone 
by,  and  every  mouldering  stone  was  a  chronicle.     I  longed  to 
wander  over  the  scenes  of  renowned  achievement,  —  to  tread, 
as  it  were,  in  the  footsteps  of  antiquity,  —  to  loiter  about 
the  ruined  castle,  —  to  meditate  on  the  falling  tower,  —  to 
escape,  in  short,  from  the  commonplace  realities  of  the  present, 
and  lose  myself  among  the  shadowy  grandeurs  of  the  past. 

5.  I  had,  beside  all  this,  an  earnest  desire  to  see  the  great 
men  of  the  earth.     We  have,  it  is  true,  our  great  men  in 
America :  not  a  city  but  has  an  ample  share  of  them.     I  have 
mingled  among  them  in  my  time,  and  been  almost  withered 
by  the  shade  into  which  they  cast  me ;   for  there  is  nothing 
so  baleful  to  a  small  man  as  the  shade  of  a  great  one,  par 
ticularly  the  great  man  of  a  city.     But  I  was  anxious  to  see 
the  great  men  of  Europe;    for  I  had  read  in  the  works  of 
various  philosophers,  that  all  animals  degenerated  in  America, 
and  man  among  the   number.     A  great  man  of  Europe, 


THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIMSELF  3 

thought  I,  must  therefore  be  as  superior  to  a  great  man  of 
America  as  a  peak  of  the  Alps  to  a  highland  of  the  Hudson ; 
and  in  this  idea  I  was  confirmed  by  observing  the  comparative 
importance  and  swelling  magnitude  of  many  English  trav 
ellers  among  us,  who,  I  was  assured,  were  very  little  people 
in  their  own  country.  I  will  visit  this  land  of  wonders, 
thought  I,  and  see  the  gigantic  race  from  which  I  am  degen 
erated. 

6.  It  has  been  either  my  good  or  evil  lot  to  have  my  roving 
passion  gratified.  I  have  wandered  through  different  coun 
tries,  and  witnessed  many  of  the  shifting  scenes  of  life.  I  can 
not  say  that  I  have  studied  them  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher, 
but  rather  with  the  sauntering  gaze  with  which  humble  lovers 
of  the  picturesque  stroll  from  the  window  of  one  print-shop  to 
another,  caught  sometimes  by  the  delineations  of  beauty, 
sometimes  by  the  distortions  of  caricature,  and  sometimes  by 
the  loveliness  of  landscape.  As  it  is  the  fashion  for  modern 
tourists  to  travel  pencil  in  hand,  and  bring  home  their  port 
folios  filled  with  sketches,  I  am  disposed  to  get  up  a  few  for 
the  entertainment  of  my  friends.  When,  however,  I  look 
over  the  hints  and  memorandums  I  have  taken  down  for  the 
purpose,  my  heart  almost  fails  me  at  finding  how  my  idle 
humor  has  led  me  aside  from  the  great  objects  studied  by 
every  regular  traveller  who  would  make  a  book.  I  fear  I  shall 
give  equal  disappointment  with  an  unlucky  landscape-painter, 
who  had  travelled  on  the  continent,  but,  following  the  bent 
of  his  vagrant  inclination,  had  sketched  in  nooks,  and  corners, 
and  by-places.  His  sketch-book  was  accordingly  crowded 
with  cottages,  and  landscapes,  and  obscure  ruins;  but  he 
had  neglected  to  paint  St.  Peter's,  or  the  Coliseum ;  the  cascade 
of  Terni,  or  the  bay  of  Naples;  and  had  not  a  single  glacier 
or  volcano  in  his  whole  collection. 


THE  VOYAGE 

[COMMENT.  —  "  The  Voyage  "  is  living's  memory  of  the 
effect  of  the  sea-voyage  upon  himself,  and  of  his  occupations 
during  the  time  spent  upon  the  sea.  Other  travellers  would 
write  of  real  occupations,  of  games,  of  Sunday  services,  prom 
enades  on  deck,  companions  of  the  voyage,  etc.,  but  Irving 
speaks  only  of  his  own  mental  occupations.  Each  that  he 
mentions  leads  by  some  natural  association  or  suggestion  to 
the  next  one  to  be  described.  Thus,  from  the  beginning  of 
the  essay,  there  is  a  close  sequence  of  thought.  In  the  first 
place,  he  contrasts  the  effect  on  the  mind,  of  a  sea-voyage 
and  that  of  a  land  journey;  this  naturally  leads  the  author 
to  speak  of  his  own  experience  as  illustrating  what  he  has 
just  written.  Then,  in  the  beginning  of  paragraph  four,  by 
way  of  transition  and  introduction  he  writes,  " .  .  .a  sea- 
voyage  is  full  of  subjects  for  meditation,"  —  and  from  here 
on  to  the  end  of  the  essay,  each  topic  suggests  the  next.  D.] 

Ships,  ships,  I  will  descrie  you 

Amidst  the  main, 
I  will  come  and  try  you, 
What  you  are  protecting, 
And  projecting. 

What's  your  end  and  aim. 
One  goes  abroad  for  merchandise  and  trading, 
Another  stays  to  keep  his  country  from  invading, 
A  third  is  coming  home  with  rich  and  wealthy  lading. 
Halloo  !  my  fancie,  whither  wilt  thou  go?  —  OLD  POEM. 

1.  To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage  he  has 
to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.  The  temporary  absence 
of  worldly  scenes  and  employments  produces  a  state  of  mind 
peculiarly  fitted  to  receive  new  and  vivid  impressions.  The 
vast  space  of  waters  that  separates  the  hemispheres  is  like 
a  blank  page  in  existence.  There  is  no  gradual  transition,  by 
which,  as  in  Europe,  the  features  and  population  of  one 
country  blend  almost  imperceptibly  with  those  of  another. 
From  the  moment  you  lose  sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all 
is  vacancy  until  you  step  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  are 
launched  at  once  into  the  bustle  and  novelties  of  another 
world. 

4 


THE   VOYAGE  5 

2.  In  travelling  by  land  there  is  a  continuity  of  scene  and 
a  connected  succession  of  persons  and  incidents,  that  carry 
on  the  story  of  life,  and  lessen  the  effect  of  absence  and  sepa 
ration.     We  drag,  it  is  true,  "a  lengthening  chain"  at  each 
remove  of  our  pilgrimage ;    but  the  chain  is  unbroken :   we 
can  trace  it  back  link  by  link ;  and  we  feel  that  the  last  still 
grapples  us  to  home.     But  a  wide  sea- voyage  severs  us  at 
once.     It  makes  us  conscious  of  being  cast  loose  from  the 
secure  anchorage  of  settled  life,  and  sent  adrift  upon  a  doubt 
ful  world.     It  interposes  a  gulf,  not  merely  imaginary,  but 
real,  between  us  and  our  homes,  —  a  gulf  subject  to  tempest, 
and  fear,  and  uncertainty,  rendering  distance  palpable,  and 
return  precarious. 

3.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  case  with  myself.     As  I  saw  the 
last  blue  line  of  my  native  land  fade  away  like  a  cloud  in  the 
horizon,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  closed  one  volume  of  the  world 
and  its  concerns,  and  had  time  for  meditation,  before  I  opened 
another.     That   land,   too,   now  vanishing  from   my  view, 
which  contained  all  most  dear  to  me  in  life ;  what  vicissitudes 
might  occur  in  it,  what  changes  might  take  place  in  me,  before 
I  should  visit  it  again !     Who  can  tell,  when  he  sets  forth  to 
wander,  whither  he  may  be  driven  by  the  uncertain  currents 
of  existence ;  or  when  he  may  return ;  or  whether  it  may  ever 
be  his  lot  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  childhood? 

4.  I  said  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy;   I  should  correct  the 
expression.    To  one  given  to  day-dreaming,   and  fond  of 
losing  himself  in  reveries,  a  sea- voyage  is  full  of  subjects  for 
meditation ;  but  then  they  are  the  wonders  of  the  deep,  and 
of  the  air,  and  rather  tend  to  abstract  the  mind  from  worldly 
themes.     I  delighted  to  loll  over  the  quarter-railing,  or  climb 
to  the  main-top,  of  a  calm  day,  and  muse  for  hours  together  on 
the  tranquil  bosom  of  a  summer's  sea ;  to  gaze  upon  the  piles 
of  golden  clouds  just  peeping  above  the  horizon,  fancy  them 
some  fairy  realms,  and  people  them  with  a  creation  of  my  own ; 
—  to  watch  the  gentle  undulating  billows,  rolling  their  silver 
volumes,  as  if  to  die  away  on  those  happy  shores. 

5.  There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  security  and 
awe  with  which  I  looked  down,  from  my  giddy  height,  on  the 


6  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

monsters  of  the  deep  at  their  uncouth  gambols.  Shoals  of 
porpoises  tumbling  about  the  bow  of  the  ship ;  the  grampus 
slowly  heaving  his  huge  form  above  the  surface ;  or  the  rav 
enous  shark,  darting,  like  a  spectre,  through  the  blue  waters. 
My  imagination  would  conjure  up  all  that  I  had  heard  or  read 
of  the  watery  world  beneath  me ;  of  the  finny  herds  that  roam 
its  fathomless  valleys;  of  the  shapeless  monsters  that  lurk 
among  the  very  foundations  of  the  earth ;  and  of  those  wild 
phantasms  that  swell  the  tales  of  fishermen  and  sailors. 

6.  Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the 
ocean,  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  speculation.     How 
interesting  this  fragment  of  a  world,  hastening  to  rejoin  the 
great  mass  of  existence !    What  a  glorious  monument  of 
human  invention;    which  has  in  a  manner  triumphed  over 
wind  and  wave ;  has  brought  the  ends  of  the  world  into  com 
munion  ;  has  established  an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring 
into  the  sterile  regions  of  the  north  all  the  luxuries  of  the 
south;  has  diffused  the  light  of  knowledge  and  the  charities 
of  cultivated  life;   and  has  thus  bound  together  those  scat 
tered  portions  of   the  human   race,  between  which   nature 
seemed  to  have  thrown  an  insurmountable  barrier. 

7.  We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drifting  at 
a  distance.     At  sea,  everything  that  breaks  the  monotony 
of  the  surrounding  expanse  attracts  attention.     It  proved  to 
be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must  have  been  completely  wrecked ; 
for  there  were  the  remains  of  .handkerchief s,  by  which  some  of 
the  crew  had  fastened  themselves  to  this  spar,  to  prevent  their 
being  washed  off  by  the  waves.     There  was  no  trace  by  which 
the  name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained.     The  wreck  had 
evidently  drifted  about  for  many  months;   clusters  of  shell 
fish  had  fastened  about  it,  and  long  seaweeds  flaunted  at  its 
sides.     But  where,  thought  I,  is  the  crew?    Their  struggle 
has  long  been  over,  —  they  have  gone  down  amidst  the  roar 
of  the  tempest,  —  their  bones  lie  whitening  among  the  caverns 
of  the  deep.     Silence,  oblivion,  like  the  waves,  have  closed 
over  them,  and  no  one  can  tell  the  story  of  their  end.     What 
sighs  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship  !  what  prayers  offered 
up  at  the  deserted  fireside  at  home !    How  often  has  the 


THE   VOYAGE  7 

mistress,  the  wife,  the  mother,  pored  over  the  daily  news,  to 
catch  some  casual  intelligence  of  this  rover  of  the  deep  !  How 
has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety  —  anxiety  into  dread 
—  and  dread  into  despair !  Alas !  not  one  memento  may 
ever  return  for  love  to  cherish.  All  that  may  ever  be  known, 
is,  that  she  sailed  from  her  port,  "and  was  never  heard  of 
more!" 

8.  The  sight  of  this  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to  many  dis 
mal  anecdotes.    This  was  particularly  the  case  in  the  evening, 
when  the  weather,  which  had  hitherto  been  fair,  began  to  look 
wild  and  threatening,  and  gave  indications  of  one  of  those 
sudden  storms  which  will  sometimes  break  in  upon  the  seren 
ity  of  a  summer  voyage.     As  we  sat  round  the  dull  light  of  a 
lamp  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the  gloom  more  ghastly,  every 
one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  disaster.     I  was  particularly 
struck  with  a  short  one  related  by  the  captain. 

9.  "As  I  was  once  sailing,"  said  he,  "in  a  fine  stout  ship 
across  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  one  of  those  heavy  fogs 
which  prevail  in  those  parts  rendered  it  impossible  for  us  to 
see  far  ahead  even  in  the  daytime ;  but  at  night  the  weather 
was  so  thick  that  we  could  not  distinguish  any  object  at  twice 
the  length  of  the  ship.     I  kept  lights  at  the  mast-head,  and  a 
constant  watch  forward  to  look  out  for  fishing-smacks,  which 
are  accustomed  to  lie  at  anchor  on  the  banks.     The  wind  was 
blowing  a  smacking  breeze,  and  we  were  going  at  a  great  rate 
through  the  water.     Suddenly  the  watch  gave  the  alarm  of 
'  a  sail  ahead  ! '  —  it  was  scarcely  uttered  before  we  were  upon 
her.     She  was  a  small  schooner,  at  anchor,  with  her  broadside 
towards  us.     The  crew  were  all  asleep,  and  had  neglected  to 
hoist  a  light.     We  struck  her  just  amidships.     The  force,  the 
size,  and  weight  of  our  vessel  bore  her  down  below  the  waves ; 
we  passed  over  her,  and  were  hurried  on  our  course.     As  the 
crashing  wreck  was  sinking  beneath  us,  I  had  a  glimpse  of  two 
or  three  half-naked  wretches  rushing  from  her  cabin;   they 
just  started  from  their  beds  to  be  swallowed  shrieking  by  the 
waves.     I  heard  their  drowning  cry  mingling  with  the  wind. 
The  blast  that  bore  it  to  our  ears  swept  us  out  of  all  farther 
hearing.    I  shall  never  forget  that  cry  J    It  was  some  tinv 


8  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

before  we  could  put  the  ship  about,  she  was  under  such  head 
way.  We  returned,  as  nearly  as  we  could  guess,  to  the  place 
where  the  smack  had  anchored.  We  cruised  about  for 
several  hours  in  the  dense  fog.  We  fired  signal-guns,  and 
listened  if  we  might  hear  the  halloo  of  any  survivors ;  but  all 
was  silent  —  we  never  saw  or  heard  anything  of  them  more." 

10.  I  confess  these  stories,  for  a  time,  put  an  end  to  all  my 
fine  fancies.     The  storm  increased  with  the  night.     The  sea 
was  lashed  into  tremendous  confusion.     There  was  a  fearful, 
sullen  sound  of  rushing  waves,  and  broken  surges.     Deep 
called  unto  deep.     At  times  the  black  volume  of  clouds  over 
head  seemed  rent  asunder  by  flashes  of  lightning  which  quiv 
ered  along  the  foaming  billows,  and  made  the  succeeding 
darkness  doubly  terrible.     The  thunders  bellowed  over  the 
wild  waste  of  waters,  and  were  echoed  and  prolonged  by  the 
mountain-waves.     As  I  saw  the  ship  staggering  and  plunging 
among  these  roaring  caverns,  it  seemed  miraculous  that  she 
regained  her  balance,  or  preserved  her  buoyancy.     Her  yards 
would  dip  into  the  water :  her  bow  was  almost  buried  beneath 
the  waves.     Sometimes  an  impending  surge  appeared  ready 
to  overwhelm  her,  and  nothing  but  a  dexterous  movement 
of  the  helm  preserved  her  from  the  shock. 

11.  When  I  retired  to  my  cabin,  the   awful   scene    still 
followed  me.     The  whistling  of  the  wind  through  the  rigging 
sounded  like  funereal  wailings.    The  creaking  of  the  masts,  the 
straining  and  groaning  of  bulk-heads,  as  the  ship  labored  in 
the  weltering  sea,  were  frightful.     As  I  heard  the  waves  rush 
ing  along  the  sides  of  the  ship,  and  roaring  in  my  very  ear, 
it  seemed  as  if  Death  were  raging  round  this  floating  prison, 
seeking  for  his  prey :  the  mere  starting  of  a  nail,  the  yawning 
of  a  seam,  might  give  him  entrance. 

12.  A  fine  day,  however,  with  a  tranquil  sea  and  favoring 
breeze,  soon  put  all  these  dismal  reflections  to  flight.     It  is 
impossible  to  resist  the  gladdening  influence  of  fine  weather 
and  fair  wind  at  sea.     When  the  ship  is  decked  out  in  all  her 
canvas,  every  sail  swelled,  and  careering  gayly  over  the  curling 
waves,  how  lofty,  how  gallant  she  appears  —  how  she  seems 
to  lord  it  over  the  deep ! 


THE   VOFAGE  9 

13.  I  might  fill  a  volume  with  the  reveries  of  a  sea-voyage, 
for  with  me  it  is  almost  a  continual  reverie,  —  but  it  is  time 
to  get  to  shore. 

14.  It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  the  thrilling  cry  of 
"land!"  was  given    from  the  mast-head.     None  but  those 
who  have  experienced  it  can  form  an  idea  of  the  delicious 
throng  of  sensations  which  rush  into  an  American's  bosom, 
when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of  Europe.     There  is  a  volume 
of  associations  with  the  very  name.     It  is  the  land  of  promise, 
teeming  with  everything  of  which  his  childhood  has  heard, 
or  on  which  his  studious  years  have  pondered. 

15.  From  that  time  until  the  moment  of  arrival,  it  was  all 
feverish   excitement.     The    ships-of-war,  that  prowled   like 
guardian  giants  along  the  coast;   the  headlands  of  Ireland, 
stretching  out  into  the  channel ;   the  Welsh  mountains,  tow 
ering  into  the  clouds;    all  were  objects  of  intense  interest. 
As  we  sailed  up  the  Mersey,  I  reconnoitred  the  shores  with 
a  telescope.     My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on  neat  cottages,  with 
their  trim  shrubberies  and  green  grass  plots.     I  saw  the 
mouldering  ruin  of  an  abbey  overrun  with  ivy,  and  the  taper 
spire  of  a  village  church  rising  from  the  brow  of  a  neighboring 
hill ;  —  all  were  characteristic  of  England. 

16.  The  tide  and  wind  were  so  favorable  that  the  ship  was 
enabled  to  come  at  once  to  the  pier.     It  was  thronged  with 
people :    some,  idle  lookers-on ;    others,  eager  expectants  of 
friends  or  relatives.     I  could  distinguish  the  merchant  to 
whom  the  ship  was  consigned.     I  knew  him  by  his  calculating 
brow  and  restless  air.     His  hands  were  thrust  into  his  pockets ; 
he  was  whistling  thoughtfully,  and  walking  to  and  fro,  a  small 
space  having  been  accorded  him  by  the  crowd,  in  deference 
to  his  temporary  importance.     There  were  repeated  cheerings 
and  salutations   interchanged   between    the  shore   and   the 
ship,  as  friends  happened  to  recognize  each  other.     I  par 
ticularly  noticed  one  young  woman  of  humble  dress,  but 
interesting  demeanor.     She  was  leaning  forward  from  among 
the  crowd;   her  eye  hurried  over  the  ship  as  it  neared  the 
shore,  to  catch  some  wished-for  countenance.     She  seemed 
disappointed  and  agitated ;  when  I  heard  a  faint  voice  call  her 


10  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

name.  It  was  from  a  poor  sailor  who  had  been  ill  all  the 
voyage,  and  had  excited  the  sympathy  of  every  one  on  board. 
When  the  weather  was  fine,  his  messmates  had  spread  a  mat 
tress  for  him  on  deck  in  the  shade ;  but  of  late  his  illness  had 
so  increased,  that  he  had  taken  to  his  hammock,  and  only 
breathed  a  wish  that  he  might  see  his  wife  before  he  died. 
He  had  been  helped  on  deck  as  we  came  up  the  river,  and  was 
now  leaning  against  the  shrouds,  with  a  countenance  so 
wasted,  so  pale,  so  ghastly,  that  it  was  no  wonder  even  the 
eye  of  affection  did  not  recognize  him.  But  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  her  eye  darted  on  his  features :  it  read,  at  once, 
a  whole  volume  of  sorrow ;  she  clasped  her  hands,  uttered  a 
faint  shriek,  and  stood  wringing  them  in  silent  agony. 

17.  All  now  was  hurry  and  bustle.  The  meetings  of  ac 
quaintances  —  the  greeting  of  friends  —  the  consultations 
of  men  of  business.  I  alone  was  solitary  and  idle.  I  had  no 
friend  to  meet,  no  cheering  to  receive.  I  stepped  upon  the 
land  of  my  forefathers  —  but  felt  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  the 
land. 


RURAL   LIFE   IN   ENGLAND 

"As  yet  a  stranger  in  England  and  curious." 

— W.  IRVING  IN  "THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH"  (p.  20). 

[COMMENT.  —  Irving's  point  of  view  in  describing  rural  life 
in  England  is  that  of  a  traveller  who  bears  in  mind  the  char 
acteristics  of  the  land  from  which  he  came  and  of  the  people 
whom,  all  his  life,  he  has  known  intimately.  Such  an  one  first 
notices  unfamiliar  things  and  at  once  contrasts  them  in  his 
own  mind  with  well-known  characteristics  of  life  in  his  own 
land.  Often,  what  he  writes  is  as  interesting  to  the  people 
of  the  countries  he  visits  as  to  those  at  home ;  contrasts  strike 
him  sharply,  and  his  attention  is  fastened  upon  customs 
so  familiar  as  to  have  lost  all  significance  among  the  very 
persons  who  habitually  observe  them. 

If  the  traveller  be  a  thoughtful  man,  he  next  seeks  to 
learn  the  effect  upon  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  of  a  mode 
of  life  different  from  the  one  he  knows,  and  he  directs  obser 
vation  and  inquiry  to  this  end.  It  results  that  his  writing 
is  much  more  than  an  entertaining  description  of  pleasant 
journeying;  contrasts  or  comparisons  are  suggested;  or,  in 
ferences  and  explanations  mingle  with  descriptive  passages. 
In  the  end,  certain  typical  qualities  and  characteristics  stand 
forth  clearly,  and  the  reader  finds  that,  while  following  the 
easy  paragraphs  of  descriptive  narration,  he  has  gained  an 
understanding  of  the  land  and  of  its  inhabitants  that  is 
well  proportioned,  just,  and  widely  applicable.  In  this  way 
Irving  has  written  "  Rural  Life  in  England."  x  D.] 

Oh  !  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  man, 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  peace, 
Domestic  life  in  rural  pleasures  past !  —  Cow  PER. 

1.  The  stranger  who  would  form  a  correct  opinion  of  the 
English  character  must  not  confine  his  observations  to  the 
metropolis.  He  must  go  forth  into  the  country;  he  must 
sojourn  in  villages  and  hamlets;  he  must  visit  castles,  villas, 
farm-houses,  cottages;  he  must  wander  through  parks  and 
gardens ;  along  hedges  and  green  lanes ;  he  must  loiter  about 

1  For  R.  H.  Dana's  comment  on  this  essay,  see  "  Life  and  Letters,** 
I,  p.  319,  or  North  American  Review,  No.  9,  p.  322;  for  Irving's  own 
reference  to  the  difference  between  country  life  in  England  and 
country  life  in  America,  see  "  Life  and  Letters,"  II,  p.  371. 

11 


12  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

country  churches;  attend  wakes  and  fairs,  and  other  rural 
festivals;  and  cope  with  the  people  in  all  their  conditions, 
and  all  their  habits  and  humors. 

2.  In  some  countries  the  large  cities  absorb  the  wealth  and 
fashion  of  the  nation ;  they  are  the  only  fixed  abodes  of  ele 
gant  and  intelligent  society,  and  the  country  is  inhabited 
almost  entirely  by  boorish  peasantry.     In  England,  on  the 
contrary,  the  metropolis  is  a  mere  gathering-place,  or  general 
rendezvous,  of  the  polite  classes,  where  they  devote  a  small 
portion  of  the  year  to  a  hurry  of  gayety  and  dissipation,  and, 
having  indulged  this  kind  of  carnival,  return  again  to  the 
apparently  more  congenial  habits  of  rural  life.     The  various 
orders  of  society  are  therefore  diffused  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  kingdom,  and  the  most  retired  neighborhoods  afford 
specimens  of  the  different  ranks. 

3.  The  English,  in  fact,  are  strongly  gifted  with  the  rural 
feeling.     They  possess  a  quick  sensibility  to  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  a  keen  relish  for  the  pleasures  and  employments  of 
the  country.     This  passion  seems  inherent  in  them.     Even 
the  inhabitants  of  cities,  born  and  brought  up  among  brick 
walls  and  bustling  streets,  enter  with  facility  into  rural  habits, 
and  evince  a  tact  for  rural  occupation.     The  merchant  has  his 
snug  retreat  in  the  vicinity  of  the  metropolis,  where  he  often 
displays  as  much  pride  and  zeal  in  the  cultivation  of  his  flower- 
garden,  and  the  maturing  of  his  fruits,  as  he  does  in  the  con 
duct  of  his  business,  and  the  success  of  a  commercial  enter 
prise.     Even  those  less  fortunate  individuals  who  are  doomed 
to  pass  their  lives  in  the  midst  of  din  and  traffic,  contrive  to 
have  something  that  shall  remind  them  of  the  green  aspect 
of  nature.     In  the  most  dark  and  dingy  quarters  of  the  city, 
the  drawing-room  window  resembles  frequently  a  bank  of 
flowers;   every  spot  capable  of  vegetation  has  its  grass-plot 
and  flower-bed;    and  every  square  its  mimic  park,  laid  out 
with  picturesque  taste,  and  gleaming  with  refreshing  verdure. 

4.  Those  who  see  the  Englishman  only  in  town  are  apt 
to  form  an  unfavorable  opinion  of  his  social  character.     He 
is  either  absorbed  in  business  or  distracted  by  the  thousand 
engagements  that  dissipate  time,  thought,  and  feeling  in  this 


RURAL  LIFE  IN  ENGLAND  13 

huge  metropolis.  He  has,  therefore,  too  commonly  a  look 
of  hurry  and  abstraction.  Wherever  he  happens  to  be,  he  is 
on  the  point  of  going  somewhere  else ;  at  the  moment  he  is 
talking  on  one  subject,  his  mind  is  wandering  to  another ;  and 
while  paying  a  friendly  visit,  he  is  calculating  how  he  shall 
economize  time  so  as  to  pay  the  other  visits  allotted  in  the 
morning.  An  immense  metropolis,  like  London,  is  calculated 
to  make  men  selfish  and  uninteresting.  In  their  casual  and 
transient  meetings  they  can  but  deal  briefly  in  commonplaces. 
They  present  but  the  cold  superficies  of  character  —  its  rich 
and  genial  qualities  have  no  time  to  be  warmed  into  a  flow. 

5.  It  is  in  the  country  that  the  Englishman  gives  scope  to 
his  natural  feelings.     He  breaks  loose  gladly  from  the  cold 
formalities  and  negative  civilities  of  town,  throws  off  his 
habits  of  shy  reserve,  and  becomes  joyous  and  free-hearted. 
He  manages  to  collect  round  him  all  the  conveniences  and 
elegancies  of  polite  life,  and  to  banish  its  restraints.     His 
country-seat  abounds  with  every  requisite,  either  for  studious 
retirement,  tasteful  gratification,  or  rural  exercise.     Books, 
paintings,  music,  horses,  dogs,  and  sporting  implements  of 
all  kinds,  are  at  hand.     He  puts  no  constraint  either  upon 
his  guests  or  himself,  but  in  the  true  spirit  of  hospitality  pro 
vides  the  means  of  enjoyment,  and  leaves  every  one  to  partake 
according  to  his  inclination. 

6.  The  taste  of  the  English  in  the  cultivation  of  land,  and 
in  what  is  called  landscape-gardening,  is  unrivalled.     They 
have  studied  nature  intently,  and  discover  an  exquisite  sense 
of  her  beautiful  forms  and  harmonious  combinations.     Those 
charms  which  in  other  countries  she  lavishes  in  wild  solitudes, 
are  here  assembled  round  the  haunts  of  domestic  life.     They 
seem  to  have  caught  her  coy  and  furtive  graces,  and  spread 
them,  like  witchery,  about  their  rural  abodes. 

7.  Nothing  can  be  more  imposing  than  the  magnificence 
of  English  park  scenery.     Vast  lawns  that  extend  like  sheets 
of  vivid  green,  with  here  and  there  clumps  of  gigantic  trees, 
heaping  up  rich  piles  of  foliage  :  the  solemn  pomp  of  groves, 
and  woodland  glades,  with  the  deer  trooping  in  silent  herds 
across  them ;  the  hare,  bounding  away  to  the  covert ;  or  the 


14  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

pheasant,  suddenly  bursting  upon  the  wing:  the  brook, 
taught  to  wind  in  natural  meanderings  or  expand  into  a  glassy 
lake:  the  sequestered  pool,  reflecting  the  quivering  trees, 
with  the  yellow  leaf  sleeping  on  its  bosom,  and  the  trout 
roaming  fearlessly  about  its  limpid  waters ;  while  some  rustic 
temple  or  sylvan  statue,  grown  green  and  dank  with  age,  gives 
an  air  of  classic  sanctity  to  the  seclusion. 

8.  These  are  but  a  few  of  the  features  of  park  scenery ;  but 
what  most  delights  me,  is  the  creative  talent  with  which  the 
English  decorate  the  unostentatious  abodes  of  middle  life. 
The  rudest  habitation,  the  most  unpromising  and  scanty  por 
tion  of  land,  in  the  hands  of  an  Englishman  of  taste,  becomes 
a  little  paradise.     With  a  nicely  discriminating  eye,  he  seizes 
at  once  upon  its  capabilities,  and  pictures  in  his  mind  the 
future  landscape.     The  sterile  spot  grows  into  loveliness  under 
his  hand,  and  yet  the  operations  of  art  which  produce  the 
effect  are  scarcely  to  be  perceived.     The  cherishing  and  train 
ing  of  some  trees;  the  cautious  pruning  of  others;   the  nice 
distribution  of  flowers  and  plants  of  tender  and  graceful 
foliage ;  the  introduction  of  a  green  slope  of  velvet  turf ;  the 
partial  opening  to  a  peep  of  blue  distance,  or  silver  gleam  of 
water :  all  these  are  managed  with  a  delicate  tact,  a  pervading 
yet  quiet  assiduity,  like  the  magic  touchings  with  which  a 
painter  finishes  up  a  favorite  picture. 

9.  The  residence  of  people  of  fortune  and  refinement  in 
the  country  has  diffused  a  degree  of  taste  and  elegance  in  rural 
economy  that  descends  to  the  lowest  class.     The  very  laborer, 
with  his  thatched  cottage  and  narrow  slip  of  ground,  attends 
to  their  embellishment.     The  trim  hedge,  the  grass-plot  be 
fore  the  door,  the  little  flower-bed  bordered  with  snug  box,  the 
woodbine  trained  up  against  the  wall,  and  hanging  its  blossoms 
about  the  lattice,  the  pot  of  flowers  in  the  window,  the  holly 
providently  planted  about  the  house,  to  cheat    winter  of 
its  dreariness,  and  to  throw  in  a  semblance  of  green  summer 
to  cheer  the  fireside :  all  these  bespeak  the  influence  of  taste, 
flowing  down  from  high  sources,  and  pervading  the  lowest 
levels  of  the  public  mind.    If  ever  Love,  as  poets  sing,  delights 
to  visit  a  cottage,  it  must  be  the  cottage  of  an  English  peasant. 


RURAL   LIFE  IN   ENGLAND  15 

10.  The  fondness  for  rural  life  among  the  higher  classes  of 
the  English  has  had  a  great  and  salutary  effect  upon  the  na 
tional  character.     I  do  not  know  a  finer  race  of  men  than  the 
English  gentlemen.     Instead  of  the  softness  and  effeminacy 
which  characterize  the  men  of  rank  in  most  countries,  they 
exhibit  a  union  of  elegance  and  strength,  a  robustness  of 
frame  and  freshness  of  complexion  which  I  am  inclined  to 
attribute  to  their  living  so  much  in  the  open  air,  and  pursuing 
so  eagerly  the  invigorating  recreations  of  the  country.    These 
hardy  exercises  produce  also  a  healthful  tone  of  mind  and 
spirits,  and  a  manliness  and  simplicity  of  manners  which  even 
the  follies  and  dissipations  of  the  town  cannot  easily  pervert, 
and  can  never  entirely  destroy.     In  the  country,  too,  the 
different  orders  of  society  seem  to  approach  more  freely,  to  be 
more  disposed  to  blend  and  operate  favorably  upon  each  other. 
The  distinctions  between  them  do  not  appear  to  be  so  marked 
and  impassable  as  in  the  cities.     The  manner  in  which  prop 
erty  has  been  distributed  into  small  estates  and  farms  has 
established  a  regular  gradation  from  the  noblemen,  through 
the  classes  of  gentry,  small  landed  proprietors,  and  substantial 
farmers,  down  to  the  laboring  peasantry;    and  while  it  has 
thus  banded  the  extremes  of  society  together,  has  infused  into 
each  intermediate  rank  a  spirit  of  independence.     This,  it 
must  be  confessed,  is  not  so  universally  the  case  at  present  as 
it  was  formerly,  the  larger  estates  having,  in  late  years  of  dis 
tress,  absorbed  the  smaller,  and,  in  some  parts  of  the  country, 
almost  annihilated  the  sturdy  race  of  small  farmers.     These, 
however,   I  believe,   are  but  casual  breaks  in  the  general 
system  I  have  mentioned. 

11.  In  rural  occupation  there  is  nothing  mean  and  debasing. 
It  leads  a  man  forth  among  scenes  of  natural  grandeur  and 
beauty;    it  leaves  him  to  the  workings  of  his  own  mind, 
operated  upon  by  the  purest  and  most  elevating  of  external 
influences.     Such  a  man  may  be  simple  and  rough,  but  he 
cannot  be  vulgar.     The  man  of  refinement,  therefore,  finds 
nothing  revolting  in  an  intercourse  with  the  lower  orders  in 
rural  life,  as  he  does  when  he  casually  mingles  with  the  lower 
orders  of  cities.     He  lays  aside  his  distance  and  reserve,  and  is 


16  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

glad  to  waive  the  distinctions  of  rank,  and  to  enter  into  the 
honest,  heartfelt  enjoyments  of  common  life.  Indeed  the  very 
amusements  of  the  country  bring  men  more  and  more  to 
gether  ;  and  the  sound  of  hound  and  horn  blend  all  feelings 
into  harmony.  I  believe  this  is  one  great  reason  why  the 
nobility  and  gentry  are  more  popular  among  the  inferior 
orders  in  England  than  they  are  in  any  other  country;  and 
why  the  latter  have  endured  so  many  excessive  pressures 
and  extremities,  without  repining  more  generally  at  the  un 
equal  distribution  of  fortune  and  privilege. 

12.  To  this  mingling  of  cultivated  and  rustic  society  may 
also  be  attributed  the  rural  feeling  that  runs  through  British 
literature;   the  frequent  use  of  illustrations  from  rural  life; 
those  incomparable  descriptions  of  nature  that  abound  in  the 
British  poets,  that  have  continued  down  from  "The  Flower 
and  the  Leaf "  of  Chaucer,  and  have  brought  into  our  closets 
all  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  dewy  landscape.     The 
pastoral  writers  of  other  countries  appear  as  if  they  had  paid 
nature  an  occasional  visit,  and  become  acquainted  with  her 
general  charms ;  but  the  British  poets  have  lived  and  revelled 
with  her  —  they  have  wooed  her  in  her  most  secret  haunts 
—  they  have  watched  her  minutest  caprices.     A  spray  could 
not  tremble  in  the  breeze  —  a  leaf  could  not  rustle  to  the 
ground  —  a  diamond  drop  could  not  patter  in  the  stream  — 
a  fragrance  could  not  exhale  from  the  humble  violet,  nor  a 
daisy  unfold  its  crimson  tints  to  the  morning,  but  it  has  been 
noticed  by  these  impassioned  and  delicate  observers,  and 

'  wrought  up  into  some  beautiful  morality. 

13.  The  effect  of  this  devotion  of  elegant  minds  to  rural 
occupations  has  been  wonderful  on  the  face  of  the  country. 
A  great  part  of  the  island  is  rather  level,  and  would  be  mo 
notonous,  were  it  not  for  the  charms  of  culture;    but  it  is 
studded  and  gemmed,  as  it  were,  with  castles  and  palaces,  and 
embroidered  with  parks  and  gardens.     It  does  not  abound 
in  grand  and  sublime  prospects,  but  rather  in  little  home- 
scenes  of  rural  repose  and  sheltered  quiet.     Every  antique 
farm-house  and  moss-grown  cottage  is  a  picture ;  and  as  the 
roads  are  continually  winding,  and  the  view  is  shut  in  by 


RURAL  LIFE  IN   ENGLAND  17 

groves  and  hedges,  the  eye  is  delighted  by  a  continual  suc 
cession  of  small  landscapes  of  captivating  loveliness. 

14.  The  great  charm,  however,  of  English  scenery  is  the 
moral  feeling  that  seems  to  pervade  it.     It  is  associated  in  the 
mind  with  ideas  of  order,  of  quiet,  of  sober,  well-established 
principles,  of  hoary  usage  and  reverend  custom.     Everything 
seems  to  be  the  growth  of  ages  of  regular  and  peaceful  exis 
tence.    The  old  church  of  remote  architecture,  with  its  low, 
massive  portal;    its  Gothic  tower;    its  windows  rich  with 
tracery  and  painted   glass,  in  scrupulous  preservation;  its 
stately  monuments  of  warriors  and  worthies  of   the    olden 
time,  ancestors  of  the  present  lords  of  the  soil ;  its  tombstones, 
recording  successive  generations  of  sturdy  yeomanry,  whose 
progeny  still  plough  the  same  fields,  and  kneel  at  the  same 
altar;  —  the    parsonage,    a     quaint,    irregular    pile,    partly 
antiquated,  but  repaired  and  altered  in  the  tastes  of  various 
ages  and  occupants ;  —  the  stile  and  foot-path  leading  from 
the  churchyard,  across  pleasant  fields,  and  along  shady  hedge 
rows,  according  to  an  immemorial  right  of  way ;  —  the  neigh 
boring  village,  with  its  venerable  cottages,  its  public  green 
sheltered  by  trees,  under  which  the  forefathers  of  the  present 
race  have  sported ;  —  the  antique  family  mansion,  standing 
apart  in  some  little  rural  domain,  but  looking  down  with  a 
protecting  air  on  the  surrounding  scene :   all  these  common 
features  of  English  landscape  evince   a   calm  and  settled 
security,  and  hereditary  transmission  of  home-bred  virtues 
and  local  attachments,  that  speak  deeply  and  touchingly  for 
the  moral  character  of  the  nation. 

15.  It  is  a  pleasing  sight  of  a  Sunday  morning,  when  the 
bell  is  sending  its  sober  melody  across  the  quiet  fields,  to 
behold  the  peasantry  in  their  best  finery,  with  ruddy  faces 
and   modest   cheerfulness,    thronging   tranquilly   along   the 
green  lanes   to  church;   but  it  is  still  more  pleasing  to  see 
them  in  the  evenings,  gathering  about  their  cottage-doors,  and 
appearing  to  exult  in  the  humble  comforts  and  embellishments 
which  their  own  hands  have  spread  around  them. 

16.  It  is  this  sweet  home-feeling,  this  settled  repose  of 
affection  in  the  domestic  scene,  that  is,  after  all,  the  parent 


18 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


of  the  steadiest  virtues  and  purest  enjoyments ;  and  I  cannot 
close  these  desultory  remarks  better  than  by  quoting  the 
words  of  a  modern  English  poet,  who  has  depicted  it  with 
remarkable  felicity:  — 

Through  each  gradation,  from  the  castled  hall, 
The  city  dome,  the  villa  crown 'd  with  shade, 
But  chief  from  modest  mansions  numberless, 
In  town  or  hamlet,  shelt'ring  middle  life, 
Down  to  the  cottaged  vale,  and  straw-roof 'd  shed; 
This  western  isle  hath  long  been  famed  for  scenes 
Where  bliss  domestic  finds  a  dwelling-place ; 
Domestic  bliss,  that,  like  a  harmless  dove, 
(Honor  and  sweet  endearment  keeping  guard,) 
Can  centre  in  a  little  quiet  nest 
All  that  desire  would  fly  for  through  the  earth ; 
That  can,  the  world  eluding,  be  itself 
A  world  enjoy'd  ;  that  wants  no  witnesses 
But  its  own  sharers,  and  approving  heaven  ; 
That,  like  a  flower  deep  hid  in  rocky  cleft, 
Smiles,  though  'tis  looking  only  at  the  sky.1 

1  From  a  poem  on  the  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  by  the 
Reverend  Rann  Kennedy,  A.M. 


AN  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  CHURCH 


THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH 

[COMMENT.  —  This  essay  illustrates  Irving's  usual  habit  of 
organization  in  his  written  papers;  there  is,  first,  a  general 
statement  which  serves  as  an  explanation  of  his  own  special 
interest;  then  follows  a  descriptive  narrative  in  which  place, 
circumstances,  particulars  pertinent  to  the  topic,  gradually 
lead  the  reader  to  the  point  of  view,  or  to  the  incident,  in  the 
author's  mind  from  the  beginning.  In  this  essay,  the  general 
observation  takes  the  form  of  an  incident.  D.] 

A  gentleman ! 

What,  o'  the  Woolpack?  or  the  sugar-chest? 
Or  lists  of  velvet  ?  which  is  't,  pound,  or  yard, 
You  vend  your  gentry  by?  —  BEGGAR'S  BUSH. 

1.  There  are  few  places  more   favorable   to  the  study  of 
character   than   an   English   country   church.     I   was   once 
passing  a  few  weeks  at  the  seat  of  a  friend,  who  resided  in 
the  vicinity  of  one,  the  appearance  of  which  particularly 
struck  my  fancy.     It  was  one  of  those  rich  morsels  of  quaint 
antiquity  which  give  such  a  peculiar  charm  to  English  land 
scape.     It  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  country  filled  with  ancient 
families,  and  contained,  within  its  cold  and  silent  aisles,  the 
congregated  dust  of  many  noble  generations.     The  interior 
walls  were  incrusted  with  monuments  of  every  age  and  style. 
The  light  streamed  through  windows  dimmed  with  armorial 
bearings,   richly  emblazoned  in   stained  glass.     In  various 
parts  of  the  church  were  tombs  of  knights  and  high-born 
dames,  of  gorgeous  workmanship,  with  their  effigies  in  colored 
marble.     On  every  side  the  eye  was  struck  with  some  instance 
of  aspiring  mortality ;  some  haughty  memorial  which  human 
pride  had  erected  over  its  kindred  dust,  in  this  temple  of  the 
most  humble  of  all  religions. 

2.  The  congregation  was  composed  of  the  neighboring  people 
of  rank,  who  sat  in  pews,  sumptuously  lined  and  cushioned, 
furnished  with  richly  gilded  prayer-books,  and  decorated  with 
their  arms  upon  the  pew-doors ;  of  the  villagers  and  peasantry, 
who  filled  the  back  seats,  and  a  small  gallery  beside  the  organ ; 

19 


20  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

and  of  the  poor  of  the  parish,  who  were  ranged  on  benches 
in  the  aisles. 

3.  The  service  was  performed  by  a  snuffling,  well-fed  vicar, 
who  had  a  snug  dwelling  near  the  church.     He  was  a  privi 
leged  guest  at  all  the  tables  of  the  neighborhood,  and  had 
been  the  keenest  fox-hunter  in  the  country;   until  age  and 
good  living  had  disabled  him  from  doing  anything  more  than 
ride  to  see  the  hounds  throw  off,  and  make  one  at  the  hunting- 
dinner. 

4.  Under  the  ministry  of  such  a  pastor,  I  found  it  impos 
sible  to  get  into  the  train  of  thought  suitable  to  the  time  and 
place :    so,  having,  like  many  other  feeble  Christians,  com 
promised  with  my  conscience,  by  laying  the  sin  of  my  own 
delinquency  at  another  person's  threshold,  I  occupied  myself 
by  making  observations  on  my  neighbors. 

5.  I  was  as  yet  a  stranger  in  England,  and  curious  to  notice 
the  manners  of  its  fashionable  classes.     I  found,  as  usual, 
that  there  was  the  least  pretension  where  there  was  the  most 
acknowledged  title  to  respect.     I  was  particularly  struck, 
for  instance,  with  the  family  of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank,  con 
sisting  of  several  sons  and  daughters.     Nothing  could  be  more 
simple  and  unassuming  than  their  appearance.     They  gen 
erally  came  to  church  in  the  plainest  equipage,  and  often  on 
foot.    The  young  ladies  would  stop  and  converse  in  the  kind 
est  manner  with  the  peasantry,  caress  the  children,  and  listen 
to  the  stories  of  the  humble  cottagers.     Their  countenances 
were  open  and  beautifully  fair,  with  an  expression  of  high 
refinement,  but,  at  the  same  time,  a  frank  cheerfulness,  and  an 
engaging  affability.    Their  brothers  were  tall,  and  elegantly 
formed.    They  were  dressed  fashionably,  but  simply;   with 
strict  neatness  and  propriety,  but  without  any  mannerism 
or  foppishness.     Their  whole  demeanor  was  easy  and  natural, 
with  that  lofty  grace  and  noble  frankness  which  bespeak 
freeborn  souls  that  have  never  been  checked  in  their  growth 
by  feelings  of  inferiority.     There  is  a  healthful  hardiness  about 
real  dignity,  that  never  dreads  contact  and  communion  with 
others,  however  humble.     It  is  only  spurious  pride  that  is 
morbid  and  sensitive,  and  shrinks  from  every  touch.     I  was 


THE  COUNTRY   CHURCH  21 

pleased  to  see  the  manner  in  which  they  would  converse  with 
the  peasantry  about  those  rural  concerns  and  field-sports  in 
which  the  gentlemen  of  this  country  so  much  delight.  In 
these  conversations  there  was  neither  haughtiness  on  the  one 
part,  nor  servility  on  the  other ;  and  you  were  only  reminded 
of  the  difference  of  rank  by  the  habitual  respect  of  the  peasant. 

6.  In  contrast  to  these  was  the  family  of  a  wealthy  citizen, 
who  had  amassed  a   vast   fortune;   and,  having  purchased 
the  estate  and  mansion  of  a  ruined  nobleman  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  was  endeavoring  to  assume  all  the  style  and  dignity 
of  an  hereditary  lord  of  the  soil.     The  family  always  came  to 
church  en  prince.    They  were  rolled  majestically  along  in  a 
carriage  emblazoned  with  arms.     The  crest  glittered  in  silver 
radiance  from  every  part  of  the  harness  where  a  crest  could 
possibly  be  placed.     A  fat  coachman,  in  a  three-cornered  hat, 
richly  laced,  and  a  flaxen  wig,  curling  close  round  his  rosy 
face,  was  seated  on  the  box,  with  a  sleek  Danish  dog  beside 
him.    Two  footmen,  in  gorgeous  liveries,  with  huge  bouquets, 
and  gold-headed  canes,  lolled  behind.    The  carriage  rose  and 
sunk  on  its  long  springs  with  peculiar  stateliness  of  motion. 
The  very  horses  champed  their  bits,  arched  their  necks,  and 
glanced  their  eyes  more  proudly  than  common  horses ;  either 
because  they  had  caught  a  little  of  the  family  feeling,  or 
were  reined  up  more  tightly  than  ordinary. 

7.  I  could  not  but  admire  the  style  with  which  this  splendid 
pageant  was  brought  up  to  the  gate  of  the  churchyard.     There 
was  a  vast  effect  produced  at  the  turning  of  an  angle  of  the 
wall ;  —  a  great  smacking  of  the  whip,  straining  and  scram 
bling  of  horses,  glistening  of  harness,  and  flashing  of  wheels 
through  gravel.     This  was  the  moment  of  triumph  and  vain 
glory  to  the  coachman.     The  horses  were  urged  and  checked 
until  they  were  fretted  into  a  foam.     They  threw  out  their 
feet  in  a  prancing  trot,  dashing  about  pebbles  at  every  step. 
The  crowd  of  villagers  sauntering  quietly  to  church,  opened 
precipitately  to  the  right  and  left,  gaping  in  vacant  admira 
tion.     On  reaching  the  gate,  the  horses  were  pulled  up  with  a 
suddenness  that  produced  an  immediate  stop,  and   almost 
threw  them  on  their  haunches. 


22  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

8.  There  was  an  extraordinary  hurry  of  the  footmen  to 
alight,  pull  down  the  steps,  and  prepare  everything  for  the 
descent  on^earth  of  this  august  family.     The  old  citizen  first 
emerged  his  round  red  face  from  out  the  door,  looking  about 
him  with  the  pompous  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  rule  on 
'Change,  and  shake  the  Stock  Market  with  a  nod.     His  con 
sort,  a  fine,  fleshy,  comfortable  dame,  followed  him.     There 
seemed,  I  must  confess,  but  little  pride  in  her  composition. 
She  was  the  picture  of  broad,  honest,  vulgar  enjoyment.     The 
world  went  well  with  her;    and  she  liked  the  world.     She 
had  fine  clothes,  a  fine  house,  a  fine  carriage,  fine  children, 
everything  was  fine  about  her:   it  was  nothing  but  driving 
about,  and  visiting  and  feasting.     Life  was  to  her  a  perpetual 
revel;   it  was  one  long  Lord  Mayor's  day. 

9.  Two  daughters  succeeded  to  this  goodly  couple.     They 
certainly  were  handsome;    but  had  a  supercilious  air,  that 
chilled  admiration,  and  disposed  the  spectator  to  be  critical. 
They  were  ultra-fashionable  in  dress;    and,  though  no  one 
could  deny  the  richness  of  their  decorations,  yet  their  ap 
propriateness  might  be  questioned  amidst  the  simplicity  of  a 
country  church.     They  descended  loftily  from  the  carriage, 
and  moved  up  the  line  of  peasantry  with  a  step  that  seemed 
dainty  of  the  soil  it  trod  on.     They  cast  an  exclusive  glance 
around,  that  passed  coldly  over  the  burly  faces  of  the  peas 
antry,  until  they  met  the  eyes  of  the  nobleman's  family,  when 
their  countenances  immediately  brightened  into  smiles,  and 
they  made  the  most  profound  and  elegant  courtesies,  which 
were  returned  in  a  manner  that  showed  they  were  but  slight 
acquaintances. 

10.  I  must  not  forget  the  two  sons  of  this  aspiring  citizen, 
who  came  to  church  in  a  dashing  curricle,  with  outriders. 
They  were  arrayed  in  the  extremity  of  the  mode,  with  all  that 
pedantry  of  dress  which  marks  the  man  of  questionable  pre 
tensions  to  style.     They  kept  entirely  by  themselves,  eying 
every  one  askance  that  came  near  them,  as  if  measuring  his 
claims  to  respectability ;  yet  they  were  without  conversation, 
except  the  exchange  of  an  occasional  cant  phrase.     They 
even  moved  artificially ;  for  their  bodies,  in  compliance  with 


THE   COUNTRY   CHURCH  23 

the  caprice  of  the  day,  had  been  disciplined  into  the  absence 
of  all  ease  and  freedom.  Art  had  done  everything  to  ac 
complish  them  as  men  of  fashion,  but  nature  had  denied  them 
the  nameless  grace.  They  were  vulgarly  shaped,  like  men 
formed  for  the  common  purposes  of  life,  and  had  that  air  of 
supercilious  assumption  which  is  never  seen  in  the  true  gentle 
man. 

11.  I  have  been  rather  minute  in  drawing  the  pictures  of 
these  two  families,  because  I  considered  them  specimens  of 
what  is  often  to  be  met  with  in  this  country  —  the  unpre 
tending  great,  and  the  arrogant  little.     I  have  no  respect  for 
titled  rank,  unless  it  be  accompanied  with  true  nobility  of 
soul;    but  I  have  remarked  in  all  countries  where  artificial 
distinctions  exist,  that  the  very  highest  classes  are  always 
the  most  courteous  and  unassuming.     Those  who  are  well 
assured  of  their  own  standing  are  least  apt  to  trespass  on  that 
of  others;  whereas  nothing  is  so  offensive  as  the  aspirings  of 
vulgarity,  which  thinks  to  elevate  itself  by  humiliating  its 
neighbor. 

12.  As  I  have  brought  these  families  into  contrast,  I  must 
notice  their  behavior  in  church.     That  of  the  nobleman's 
family  was  quiet,  serious,  and  attentive.     Not  that  they  ap 
peared  to  have  any  fervor  of  devotion,  but  rather  a  respect  for 
sacred  things,  and  sacred  places,  inseparable  from  good  breed 
ing.     The  others,  on  the  contrary,  were  in  a  perpetual  flutter 
and  whisper;    they  betrayed  a  continual  consciousness  of 
finery,  and  a  sorry  ambition  of  being  the  wonders  of  a  rural 
congregation. 

13.  The  old  gentleman  was  the  only  one  really  attentive 
to  the  service.     He  took  the  whole  burden  of  family  devotion 
upon  himself,  standing  bolt  upright,  and  uttering  the  re 
sponses  with  a  loud  voice  that  might  be  heard  all  over  the 
church.     It  was  evident  that  he  was  one  of  those  thorough 
church  and  king  men,  who  connect  the  idea  of  devotion  and 
loyalty;   who  consider  the  Deity,  somehow  or  other,  of  the 
government  party,  and  religion  "a  very  excellent  sort  of  thing 
that  ought  to  be  countenanced  and  kept  up." 

14.  When  he  joined  so  loudly  in  the  service,  it  seemed  more 


24 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


by  way  of  example  to  the  lower  orders,  to  show  them  that, 
though  so  great  and  wealthy,  he  was  not  above  being  religious ; 
as  I  have  seen  a  turtle-fed  alderman  swallow  publicly  a  basin 
of  charity  soup,  smacking  his  lips  at  every  mouthful,  and 
pronouncing  it  "  excellent  food  for  the  poor." 

15.  When  the  service  was  at  an  end,  I  was  curious  to 
witness  the  several  exits  of  my  groups.  The  young  noblemen 
and  their  sisters,  as  the  day  was  fine,  preferred  strolling  home 
across  the  fields,  chatting  with  the  country  people  as  they 
went.  The  others  departed  as  they  came,  in  grand  parade. 
Again  were  the  equipages  wheeled  up  to  the  gate.  There  was 
again  the  smacking  of  whips,  the  clattering  of  hoofs,  and 
the  glittering  of  harness.  The  horses  started  off  almost  at  a 
bound;  the  villagers  again  hurried  to  right  and  left;  the 
wheels  threw  up  a  cloud  of  dust ;  and  the  aspiring  family  was 
rapt  out  of  sight  in  a  whirlwind. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON 

[COMMENT.  —  The  essay  called  "The  Widow  and  her  Son," 
is  in  narrative  form,  and,  although  it  reads  very  easily  and 
pleasantly,  the  form  is  more  complex  and  difficult  than  in 
many  a  long,  exciting  story.-  In  fact,  there  are  in  it  the 
elements  or  skeleton  outlines  of  three  different  stories,  each 
inclosed  within,  or  dependent  upon,  another.  First,  is  the 
story  of  the  stranger  travelling  in  England,  who  frequents  the 
country  church;  this  runs  like  a  thread  or  setting  to  the  end 
of  the  essay;  the  traveller  is  the  narrator  of  the  incident 
Irving  wishes  to  tell.  A  few  lines,  here  and  there,  remind  the 
reader  of  his  personality,  and  outline  his  story  as  it  originally 
occurred  from  the  beginning  when  he  first  observed  the  old 
woman  sitting  alone  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  to  the  moment 
when  he  heard  of  her  death. 

The  story  of  the  poor  woman  as  it  came  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  narrator  is  next ;  it  is  this  for  which  the  essay  was  written, 
and  the  author  tells  it  to  us  because  it  interested  him  deeply; 
our  interest  in  the  story  arises  chiefly  through  the  interest 
of  our  friend,  the  traveller,  and  for  this  reason  he  tells  the 
incidents  in  the  order  in  which  he  learned  of  them;  the  very 
first  part  of  the  real  story,  coming  last  of  all.  Finally,  there 
is  the  story  told  by  the  friend  of  poor  Mrs.  Somers;  —  only 
from  a  friend  who  had  long  known  the  family  could  a  stranger 
learn  the  earlier  parts  of  the  widow's  story.  There  is,  also, 
a  fourth  story,  the  real  story  of  George  Somers  and  his  parents; 
if  this  story  should  be  written  in  the  order  in  which  it  occurred, 
it  would  differ  in  its  detail  and  arrangement  from  every  one 
of  the  stories  narrated  by  Irving  in  this  essay.  D.] 

Pittie  olde  age,  within  whose  silver  haires 
Honour  and  reverence  evermore  have  rain'd. 

—  MARLOWE'S  TAMBURLAINE. 

1.  Those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  remarking  such  matters, 
must  have  noticed  the  passive  quiet  of  an  English  landscape 
on  Sunday.  The  clacking  of  the  mill,  the  regularly  recurring 
stroke  of  the  flail,  the  din  of  the  blacksmith's  hammer,  the 
whistling  of  the  ploughman,  the  rattling  of  the  cart,  and  all 
other  sounds  of  rural  labor  are  suspended.  The  very  farm- 
dogs  bark  less  frequently,  being  less  disturbed  by  passing 
travellers.  At  such  times  I  have  almost  fancied  the  winds 

25 


26  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

sunk  into  quiet,  and  that  the  sunny  landscape,  with  its  fresh 
green  tints  melting  into  blue  haze,  enjoyed  the  hallowed  calm. 

Sweet  day,  so  pure,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky. 

Well  was  it  ordained  that  the  day  of  devotion  should  be  a  day 
of  rest.  The  holy  repose  which  reigns  over  the  face  of  nature 
has  its  moral  influence;  every  restless  passion  is  charmed 
down,  and  we  feel  the  natural  religion  of  the  soul  gently 
springing  up  within  us.  For  my  part,  there  are  feelings  that 
visit  me,  in  a  country  church,  amid  the  beautiful  serenity  of 
nature,  which  I  experience  nowhere  else ;  and  if  not  a  more 
religious,  I  think  I  am  a  better  man  on  Sunday  than  on  any 
other  day  of  the  seven. 

2.  During  my  recent  residence  in  the  country,  I  used  fre 
quently  to  attend  at  the  old  village  church.  Its  shadowy 
aisles ;  its  mouldering  monuments ;  its  dark  oaken  panelling, 
all  reverend  with  the  gloom  of  departed  years,  seemed  to  fit 
it  for  the  haunt  of  solemn  meditation ;  but  being  in  a  wealthy, 
aristocratic  neighborhood,  the  glitter  of  fashion  penetrated 
even  into  the  sanctuary ;  and  I  felt  myself  continually  thrown 
back  upon  the  world  by  the  frigidity  and  pomp  of  the  poor 
worms  around  me.  The  only  being  in  the  whole  congregation 
who  appeared  thoroughly  to  feel  the  humble  and  prostrate 
piety  of  a  true  Christian  was  a  poor  decrepit  old  woman, 
bending  under  the  weight  of  years  and  infirmities.  She  bore 
the  traces  of  something  better  than  abject  poverty.  The 
lingerings  of  decent  pride  were  visible  in  her  appearance. 
Her  dress,  though  humble  in  the  extreme,  was  scrupulously 
clean.  Some  trivial  respect,  too,  had  been  awarded  her,  for 
she  did  not  take  her  seat  among  the  village  poor,  but  sat  alone 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  seemed  to  have  survived  all 
love,  all  friendship,  all  society;  and  to  have  nothing  left  her 
but  the  hopes  of  heaven.  When  I  saw  her  feebly  rising  and 
bending  her  aged  form  in  prayer;  habitually  conning  her 
prayer-book,  which  her  palsied  hand  and  failing  eyes  would 
not  permit  her  to  read,  but  which  she  evidently  knew  by 
heart ;  I  felt  persuaded  that  the  faltering  voice  of  that  poor 


THE   WIDOW   AND   HER   SON  27 

woman  arose  to  heaven  far  before  the  responses  of  the  clerk, . 
the  swell  of  the  organ,  or  the  chanting  of  the  choir. 

3.  I  am  fond  of  loitering  about  country  churches ;  and  this 
was  so  delightfully  situated,  that  it  frequently  attracted  me. 
It  stood  on  a  knoll,  round  which  a  small  stream  made  a  beauti 
ful  bend,  and  then  wound  its  way  through  a  long  reach  of  soft 
meadow  scenery.     The  church  was  surrounded  by  yew-trees 
which  seemed  almost  coeval  with  itself.     Its  tall  Gothic  spire 
shot  up  lightly  from  among  them,  with  rooks  and  crows  gen 
erally  wheeling  about  it.     I  was  seated  there  one  still  sunny 
morning,  watching  two  laborers  who  were  digging  a  grave. 
They  had  chosen  one  of  the  most  remote  and  neglected  corners 
of  the  churchyard ;  where,  from  the  number  of  nameless  graves 
around,  it  would  appear  that  the  indigent  and  friendless  were 
huddled  into  the  earth.     I  was  told  that  the  new-made  grave 
was  for  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow.     While  I  was  meditating 
on  the  distinctions  of  worldly  rank,  which  extend  thus  down 
into  the  very  dust,  the  toll  of  the  bell  announced  the  approach 
of  the  funeral.     They  were  the  obsequies  of  poverty,  with 
which  pride  had  nothing  to  do.     A  coffin  of  the  plainest  ma 
terials,  without  pall  or  other  covering,  was  borne  by  some  of 
the  villagers.     The  sexton  walked  before  with  an  air  of  cold 
indifference.     There  were  no  mock  mourners  in  the  trappings 
of  affected  woe ;  but  there  was  one  real  mourner  who  feebly 
tottered  after  the  corpse.     It  was  the  aged  mother  of  the 
deceased,  the  poor  old  woman  whom  I  had  seen  seated  on  the 
steps  of  the  altar.     She  was  supported  by  an  humble  friend, 
who  was  endeavoring  to  comfort  her.     A  few  of  the  neigh 
boring  poor  had  joined  the  train,  and  some  children  of  the 
village  were  running  hand  in  hand,  now  shouting  with  un 
thinking  mirth,  and  now  pausing  to  gaze,  with  childish  curi 
osity,  on  the  grief  of  the  mourner. 

4.  As  the  funeral  train  approached  the  grave,  the  parson 
issued  forth  from  the  church-porch,  arrayed  in  the  surplice, 
with  prayer-book  in  hand,  and  attended  by  the  clerk.     The 
service,  however,  was  a  mere  act  of  charity.     The  deceased 
had  been  destitute,  and  the  survivor  was  penniless.     It  was 
shuffled  through,  therefore,  in  form,  but  coldly  and  unfeel- 


28  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

ingly.  The  well-fed  priest  moved  but  a  few  steps  from  the 
church-door ;  his  voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  at  the  grave ; 
and  never  did  I  hear  the  funeral  service,  that  sublime  and 
touching  ceremony,  turned  into  such  a  frigid  mummery  of 
words. 

5.  I  approached  the  grave.     The  coffin  was  placed  on  the 
ground.     On  it  were  inscribed  the  name  and  age  of  the  de 
ceased  —  "  George  Somers,  aged  26  years."    The  poor  mother 
had  been  assisted  to  kneel  down  at  the  head  of  it.     Her 
withered  hands  were  clasped,  as  if  in  prayer,  but  I  could  per 
ceive  by  a  feeble  rocking  of  the  body,  and  a  convulsive  motion 
of  her  lips,  that  she  was  gazing  on  the  last  relics  of  her  son  with 
the  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart. 

6.  Preparations  were  made  to  deposit  the  coffin  in  the 
earth.     There  was  that  bustling  stir  which  breaks  so  harshly 
on  the  feelings  of  grief  and  affection ;  directions  given  in  the 
cold  tones  of  business ;  the  striking  of  spades  into  sand  and 
gravel ;  which  at  the  grave  of  those  we  love,  is,  of  all  sounds, 
the  most  withering.     The  bustle  around  seemed  to  waken  the 
mother  from  a  wretched  reverie.     She  raised  her  glazed  eyes, 
and  looked  about  with  a  faint  wildness.     As  the  men  ap 
proached  with  cords  to  lower  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  she 
wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  into  an  agony  of  grief.     The  poor 
woman  who  attended  her  took  her  by  the  arm,  endeavoring 
to  raise  her  from  the  earth,  and  to  whisper  something  like 
consolation  —  "Nay,   now  —  nay,   now  —  don't  take   it  so 
sorely  to  heart."     She  could  only  shake  her  head  and  wring 
her  hands,  as  one  not  to  be  comforted. 

7.  As  they  lowered  the  body  into  the  earth,  the  creaking 
of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her;   but  when,  on  some  ac 
cidental  obstruction,  there  was  a  jostling  of  the  coffin,  all  the 
tenderness  of  the  mother  burst  forth ;   as  if  any  harm  could 
come  to  him  who  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  worldly  suffering. 

8.  I  could  see  no  more  —  my  heart  swelled  into  my  throat 
—  my  eyes  filled  with  tears  —  I  felt  as  if  I  were  acting  a  bar 
barous  part  in  standing  by,  and  gazing  idly  on  this  scene  of 
maternal  anguish.     I  wandered  to  another  part  of  the  church 
yard,  where  I  remained  until  the  funeral  train  had  dispersed. 


THE   WIDOW   AND   HER   SON  29 

9.  When  I  saw  the  mother  slowly  and  painfully  quitting 
the  grave,  leaving  behind  her  the  remains  of  all  that  was  dear 
to  her  on  earth,  and  returning  to  silence  and  destitution,  my 
heart  ached  for  her.     What,  thought  I,  are  the  distresses  of 
the  rich  !    They  have  friends  to  soothe  —  pleasures  to  beguile 

—  a  world  to  divert  and  dissipate  their  griefs.  What  are  the 
sorrows  of  the  young !  Their  growing  minds  soon  close  above 
the  wound  —  their  elastic  spirits  soon  rise  beneath  the  pres 
sure  —  their  green  and  ductile  affections  soon  twine  round 
new  objects.  But  the  sorrows  of  the  poor,  who  have  no  out 
ward  appliances  to  soothe,  —  the  sorrows  of  the  aged,  with 
whom  life  at  best  is  but  a  wintry  day,  and  who  can  look 
for  no  after-growth  of  joy,  — the  sorrows  of  a  widow,  aged, 
solitary,  destitute,  mourning  over  an  only  son,  the  last  solace 
of  her  years :  these  are  indeed  sorrows  which  make  us  feel 
the  impotency  of  consolation. 

10.  It  was  some  time  before  I  left  the  churchyard.     On  my 
way  homeward  I  met  with  the  woman  who  had  acted  as  com 
forter  :  she  was  just  returning  from  accompanying  the  mother 
to  her  lonely  habitation,  and  I  drew  from  her  some  particulars 
connected  with  the  affecting  scene  I  had  witnessed. 

11.  The  parents  of  the  deceased  had  resided  in  the  village 
from  childhood.     They  had  inhabited  one  of  the  neatest  cot 
tages,  and  by  various  rural  occupations,  and  the  assistance 
of  a  small  garden,  had  supported  themselves  creditably  and 
comfortably,  and  led  a  happy  and  a  blameless  life.     They  had 
one  son,  who  had  grown  up  to  be  the  staff  and  pride  of  their 
age.  —  "Oh,  sir!"  said  the  good  woman,  "he  was  such  a 
comely  lad,  so  sweet-tempered,  so  kind  to  every  one  around 
him,   so   dutiful  to   his  parents !     It  did  one's  heart  good 
to  see  him  of  a  Sunday,  dressed    out  in  his  best,  so  tall, 
so  straight,  so  cheery,  supporting  his  old  mother  to  church, 
—  for  she  was  always  fonder   of  leaning  on  George's   arm 
than  on  her  good  man's;  and,  poor  soul,  she  might  well  be 
proud  of  him,  for  a  finer  lad  there  was  not  in  the  country 
round." 

12.  Unfortunately,  the  son  was  tempted,  during  a  year 
of  scarcity  and  agricultural  hardship,  to  enter  into  the  service 


30  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

of  one  of  the  small  craft  that  plied  on  a  neighboring  river.  He 
had  not  been  long  in  this  employ  when  he  was  entrapped  by  a 
press-gang,  and  carried  off  to  sea.  His  parents  received  tidings 
of  his  seizure,  but  beyond  that  they  could  learn  nothing.  It 
was  the  loss  of  their  main  prop.  The  father,  who  was  already 
infirm,  grew  heartless  and  melancholy,  and  sunk  into  his 
grave.  The  widow,  left  lonely  in  her  age  and  feebleness, 
could  no  longer  support  herself,  and  came  upon  the  parish. 
Still  there  was  a  kind  feeling  toward  her  throughout  the  vil 
lage,  and  a  certain  respect  as  being  one  of  the  oldest  inhabit 
ants.  As  no  one  applied  for  the  cottage,  in  which  she  had 
passed  so  many  happy  days,  she  was  permitted  to  remain  in  it, 
where  she  lived  solitary  and  almost  helpless.  The  few  wants 
of  nature  were  chiefly  supplied  from  the  scanty  productions 
of  her  little  garden,  which  the  neighbors  would  now  and  then 
cultivate  for  her.  It  was  but  a  few  days  before  the  time  at 
which  these  circumstances  were  told  me,  that  she  was  gather 
ing  some  vegetables  for  her  repast,  when  she  heard  the  cottage- 
door  which  faced  the  garden  suddenly  opened.  A  stranger 
came  out,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  eagerly  and  wildly  around. 
He  was  dressed  in  seaman's  clothes,  was  emaciated  and 
ghastly  pale,  and  bore  the  air  of  one  broken  by  sickness  and 
hardships.  He  saw  her,  and  hastened  towards  her,  but  his 
steps  were  faint  and  faltering ;  he  sank  on  his  knees  before  her, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child.  The  poor  woman  gazed  upon  him 
with  a  vacant  and  wandering  eye,  —  "  Oh,  my  dear,  dear 
mother !  don't  you  know  your  son  ?  your  poor  boy,  George  ?  " 
It  was  indeed  the  wreck  of  her  once  noble  lad,  who,  shattered 
by  wounds,  by  sickness  and  foreign  imprisonment,  had,  at 
length,  dragged  his  wasted  limbs  homeward,  to  repose  among 
the  scenes  of  his  childhood. 

13.  I  will  not  attempt  to  detail  the  particulars  of  such 
a  meeting,  where  joy  and  sorrow  were  so  completely  blended  : 
still  he  was  alive !  he  was  come  home !  he  might  yet  live  to 
comfort  and  cherish  her  old  age !  Nature,  however,  was 
exhausted  in  him ;  and  if  anything  had  been  wanting  to  finish 
the  work  of  fate,  the  desolation  of  his  native  cottage  would 
have  been  sufficient.  He  stretched  himself  on  the  pallet  on 


THE   WIDOW   AND   HER   SON  31 

which  his  widowed  mother  had  passed  many  a  sleepless  night, 
and  he  never  rose  from  it  again. 

14.  The  villagers,  when  they  heard  that  George  Somers 
had  returned,  crowded  to  see  him,  offering  every  comfort 
and  assistance  that  their  humble  means  afforded.     He  was 
too  weak,  however,  to  talk  —  he  could  only  look  his  thanks. 
His  mother  was  his  constant  attendant ;   and  he  seemed  un 
willing  to  be  helped  by  any  other  hand. 

15.  There  is  something  in  sickness  that  breaks  down  the 
pride  of  manhood ;  that  softens  the  heart,  and  brings  it  back 
to  the  feelings  of  infancy.     Who  that  has  languished,  even 
in  advanced  life,  in  sickness  and  despondency;    who  that 
has  pined  on  a  weary  bed  in  the  neglect  and  loneliness  of  a 
foreign  land,  but  has  thought  on  the  mother  "that  looked 
on  his  childhood,"  that  smoothed  his  pillow,  and  adminis 
tered  to  his  helplessness  ?     Oh  !   there  is  an  enduring  tender 
ness  in  the  love  of  a  mother  to  her  son  that  transcends  all 
other  affections  of  the  heart.     It  is  neither  to  be  chilled  by 
selfishness,  nor  daunted  by  danger,  nor  weakened  by  worth- 
lessness,  nor  stifled  by  ingratitude.     She  will  sacrifice  every 
comfort  to  his  convenience  ;  she  will  surrender  every  pleasure 
to  his  enjoyment;  she  will  glory  in  his  fame,  and  exult  in  his 
prosperity ;  —  and,  if  misfortune  overtake  him,  he  will  be  the 
dearer  to  her  from  misfortune;    and  if  disgrace  settle  upon 
his  name,  she  will  still  love  and  cherish  him  in  spite  of  his 
disgrace;   and  if  all  the  world  beside  cast  him  off,  she  will 
be  all  the  world  to  him. 

16.  Poor  George  Somers  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  in 
sickness,  and  none  to  soothe,  —  lonely  and  in  prison,  and  none 
to  visit  him.     He  could  not  endure  his  mother  from  his  sight ; 
if  she  moved  away,  his  eye  would  follow  her.     She  would  sit 
for  hours  by  his  bed,  watching  him  as  he  slept.     Sometimes 
he  would  start  from  a  feverish  dream,  and  look  anxiously  up 
until  he  saw  her  bending  over  him ;   when  he  would  take  her 
hand,  lay  it  on  his  bosom,  and  fall  asleep,  with  the  tranquil 
lity  of  a  child.     In  this  way  he  died. 

17.  My  first  impulse  on  hearing  this  humble  tale  of  afflic 
tion  was  to  visit  the  cottage  of  the  mourner,  and  administer 


32  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

pecuniary  assistance,  and,  if  possible,  comfort.  I  found,  how 
ever,  on  inquiry,  that  the  good  feelings  of  the  villagers  had 
prompted  them  to  do  everything  that  the  case  admitted; 
and  as  the  poor  know  best  how  to  console  each  other's  sorrows, 
I  did  not  venture  to  intrude. 

18.  The  next  Sunday  I  was  at  the  village  church,  when, 
to  my  surprise,  I  saw  the  poor  old  woman  tottering  down 
the  aisle  to  her  accustomed  seat  on  the  steps  of  the  altar. 

19.  She  had  made  an  effort  to  put  on  something  like  mourn 
ing  for  her  son ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  this 
struggle  between  pious  affection  and  utter  poverty :  a  black 
ribbon  or  so,  a  faded  black  handkerchief,  and  one  or  two  more 
such  humble  attempts  to  express  by  outward  signs  that  grief 
which  passes  show.     When  I  looked  round  upon  the  storied 
monuments,  the  stately  hatchments,  the  cold  marble  pomp, 
with  which  grandeur  mourned  magnificently  over  departed 
pride,  and  turned  to  this  poor  widow,  bowed  down  by  age  and 
sorrow,  at  the  altar  of  her  God,  and  offering  up  the  prayers  and 
praises  of  a  pious,  though  a  broken  heart,  I  felt  that  this  living 
monument  of  real  grief  was  worth  them  all. 

20.  I  related  her  story  to  some  of  the  wealthy  members 
of  the  congregation,  and  they  were  moved  by  it.    They  ex 
erted  themselves  to  render  her  situation  more  comfortable, 
and  to  lighten  her  afflictions.     It  was,  however,  but  smoothing 
a  few  steps  to  the  grave.     In  the  course  of  a  Sunday  or  two 
after,  she  was  missed  from  her  usual  seat  at  church,  and  be 
fore  I  left  the  neighborhood,  I  heard,  with  a  feeling  of  satis 
faction,  that  she  had  quietly  breathed  her  last,  and  had  gone 
to  rejoin  those  she  loved,  in  that  world  where  sorrow  is  never 
known  and  friends  are  never  parted. 


IRVING'S  OLD  CHRISTMAS 

PRELIMINARY   COMMENT 


Irving's  Christmas  essays  represent,  primarily,  his  re 
searches  in  old  books,  but  the  knowledge  thus  gained  he 
enkindled  with  his  own  peculiar  gift  of  imagination.  He 
was  fond  of  re-creating  scenes  belonging  to  periods  of  time 
long  since  forgotten.  In  his  travels,  he  sought  out 
places  already  familiar  in  thought;  wandering  alone,  and 
musing  at  will,  he  presently  found  himself  surrounded 
by  shadowy  personages  evoked  from  the  past.  Often 
this  imaginary  world  became  so  real  to  him  that  the  very 
incidents  set  down  in  the  pages  of  old  books  seemed  to  re- 
enact  themselves  in  the  surroundings  wherein  they  first  took 
place.  Actors  long  since  forgotten  kept  him  company;  great 
events  or  old-time  revelries  repeated  themselves  with  vivid 
reality,  and  afterwards,  in  memory,  he  could  scarcely  dis 
tinguish  imaginary  scenes  and  characters  from  those  once 
visible  to  the  eyes. 

Often  no  more  is  set  down  than  we  may  read  for  ourselves 
in  antiquarian  books,  but  we  derive  a  new  pleasure  from  the 
pages,  due  chiefly  to  the  charm  of  the  author's  personality. 
With  him,  we  wander  for  an  hour  in  strange  lands,  we  share  his 
curiosity,  and  perceive  contrasts  unnoticed  before;  while  the 
quickened  love  of  home  that  travellers  feel  stirs  within  us. 
More  than  this,  Irving  lends  to  us,  for  the  nonce,  his  own  tem 
perament,  his  own  retrospective  imagination.  For  us,  also, 
England  becomes  the  home  land  from  which  our  race  came. 
The  speech  of  the  English  is  our  own;  their  homes  are  the 
very  ones  from  which  the  most  intimate  and  sacred  cus 
toms  of  our  own  households  have  been  derived.  Keenly 
alive  to  every  older  phase  of  familiar  manners,  we  return 
with  our  author  as  children  to  the  roof- tree  under  which  our 
fathers  and  mothers  were  bred. 

In  reality,  the  feeling  that  moves  us  is  not  the  curiosity  of 
the  traveller;  a  deeper  emotion  stirs  in  our  hearts  as  we 
recognize  with  wonder  and  affection  the  sources  of  our  own 
personal  life  and  being.  A  holiday  custom  carelessly  main 
tained  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  assumes  a  wholly  new 
significance  to  the  wanderer  from  that  distant  place  when  he 
sees  the  same  observance  immemorially  handed  down  in 
the  land  from  which  his  fathers  came.  This  is  the  service 


34  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


that  Irving  renders  the  reader;  he  places  him  in  the  true, 
the  only,  point  of  view  for  vital  interest  in  the  past.  He 
makes  him  feel  that  the  past  is,  in  one  way  or  another,  the 
inheritance  of  each  one  of  us;  in  returning  to  it,  we  are  re 
creating  scenes,  realizing  motives  and  customs,  which  deter 
mined,  in  great  degree,  the  complexion  of  the  lives  we  ourselves 
lead,  since  they  were  bred  in  the  blood  and  bone  of  our  own 
ancestry. 

In  form,  the  Christmas  papers,  beginning  with  "The  Stage 
Coach,"  are  narrative  essays.  If  Irving  had  interested  us 
more  deeply  in  the  characters,  and  introduced  a  few  exciting 
incidents,  he  would  have  written  a  story  instead  of  an  essay, 
but  he  cared  most  to  observe  and  understand  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  English  people,  and  it  was  his  wish  to 
excite  a  like  sympathetic  interest  in  his  readers.  He  used 
a  slight  thread  of  narrative  because  it  furnished  an  easy  means 
of  passing  from  one  scene  to  the  next.  In  this  way,  also,  he 
was  able  to  give  reality  to  the  revelry  of  Christmas  time,  and 
make  the  pageant  enacted  in  his  own  mind  appear  in  actual 
form.  The  reader  must  not  consider  that  the  Squire,  or 
Frank,  or  Master  Simon,  are  real  persons,  but  neither  must  he 
conclude  that  they  are  no  more  than  lay  figures  devised  to 
carry  the  narrative.  Each  one  is  intended  to  represent  the 
qualities  of  some  member  of  a  typical  family,  and  the  picture 
in  Irving's  mind  was  drawn  from  personal  acquaintance  with 
many  individuals  of  the  class  he  wished  to  represent.  For 
the  reader,  the  narrative  element  mingling  in  these  essays 
heightens  greatly  the  interest;  the  author  makes  of  himself  a 
character  and  leads  us  thus  to  share  experiences  which,  with 
out  his  genial  companionship,  might  not  have  appealed  to  our 
own  slower  imagination. 

In  a  letter  to  his  brother,  soon  after  the  publication  of  the 
Christmas  papers,  Irving  defines  his  purpose  in  writing  them. 
He  says:  — 

The  article  you  object  to,  about  Christmas,  is  written  for  peculiar 
tastes  —  those  who  are  fond  of  what  is  quaint  in  literature  and  cus 
toms.  The  scenes  there  depicted  are  formed  upon  humors  and  cus 
toms  peculiar  to  the  English  and  illustrative  of  their  greatest  holiday. 
The  old  rhymes  which  are  interspersed  are  but  selections  from  many 
which  I  found  among  old  works  in  the  British  Museum,  little  read 
even  by  Englishmen,  and  which  will  have  value  with  some  literary 
men  who  relish  these  morsels  of  antiquated  humor.  When  an  article 
is  studied  out  in  this  manner,  it  cannot  have  that  free  flowing  spirit 
and  humor  that  one  written  off-hand  has  ;  but  then  it  compensates 
to  some  peculiar  minds  by  the  points  of  character  or  manners  which 
it  illustrates.  —  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  I,  p.  345. 

After  the  publication  of  "The  Sketch-Book,"  Lady 
Lyttleton  wrote  to  Honorable  Richard  Rush,  then  American 


IRVING'S  OLD  CHRISTMAS  35 

Minister  at  the  Court  of  St.  James,  inquiring  about  the  author 
ship  of  that  book,  since  it  was  attributed  by  some  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  In  the  correspondence  that  ensued,  Irving  mentioned 
the  fact  that  the  observations  which  formed  the  basis  of  "  Rural 
Life  in  England"  were  made  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hagley, 
Lord  Lyttleton's  country-seat.  In  the  end,  he  received  an  in 
vitation,  which  he  was  unable  to  accept,  to  pass  the  holidays  at 
Hagley  where  the  old-fashioned  festivities  of  the  Christmas  time 
were  observed  as  described  in  "  The  Sketch-Book."  There  had 
been  some  criticism  of  the  Christmas  essays  on  the  supposition 
that  they  were  purely  imaginary  ;  Irving,  therefore,  was  espe 
cially  pleased  whenever  he  found  the  old-time  observances  main 
tained  and  cherished.  In  a  letter  dated  Newstead  Abbey,  Janu 
ary  20,  1832,  he  gives  an  account  of  a  tour  undertaken  to  give  Mr. 
Van  Buren  and  his  son,  recently  arrived  in  England,  an  idea  of 
English  country  life  and  of  the  festivities  of  an  old-fashioned 
Christmas.  These  were  found  in  full  course  at  Barlborough 
Hall,  where  the  party  arrived  on  Christmas  Eve  and  remained 
for  a  fortnight. 

The  following  passage  is  taken  from  the  chapter  called 
"Plough  Monday,"  in  "Newstead  Abbey  ":  — 

But  it  is  not  in  "Merry  Sherwood  Forest  "  alone  that  these  remnants 
of  old  times  prevail.  They  are  to  be  met  with  in  most  of  the  counties 
north  of  the  Trent,  which  classic  stream  seems  to  be  the  boundary  line  of 
primitive  customs.  During  my  recent  Christmas  sojourn  at  Barlboro' 
Hall,  on  the  skirts  of  Derbyshire  and  Yorkshire,  I  had  witnessed 
many  of  the  rustic  festivities  peculiar  to  that  joyous  season,  which 
have  rashly  been  pronounced  obsolete  by  those  who  draw  their  ex 
perience  merely  from  city  life.  I  had  seen  the  great  Yule  clog  put  on 
the  fire  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  wassail  bowl  sent  round,  brimming 
with  its  spicy  beverage.  I  had  heard  carols  beneath  my  window 
by  the  choristers  of  the  neighboring  village,  who  went  their  rounds 
about  the  ancient  Hall  at  midnight,  according  to  immemorial  custom. 
We  had  mummers  and  mimers  too,  with  the  story  of  St.  George  and 
the  Dragon,  and  other  ballads  and  traditional  dialogues,  together 
with  the  famous  old  interlude  of  the  Hobby  Horse,  all  represented  in 
the  antechamber  and  servants'  hall  by  rustics,  who  inherited  the 
custom  and  the  poetry  from  preceding  generations. 

The  boar's  head,  crowned  with  rosemary,  had  taken  its  honored 
station  among  the  Christmas  cheer ;  the  festal  board  had  been  at 
tended  by  glee  singers  and  minstrels  from  the  village  to  entertain  the 
company  with  hereditary  songs  and  catches  during  their  repast ;  and 
the  old  Pyrrhic  game  of  the  sword-dance,  handed  down  since  the 
time  of  the  Romans,  was  admirably  performed  in  the  court-yard  of  the 
mansion  by  a  band  of  young  men,  lithe  and  supple  in  their  forms  and 
graceful  in  their  movements,  who,  I  was  told,  went  the  rounds  of  the 
villages  and  country-seats  during  the  Christmas  holidays. 

I  specify  these  rural  pageants  and  ceremonials,  which  I  saw  during 
my  sojourn  in  this  neighborhood,  because  it  has  been  deemed  that 
some  of  the  anecdotes  of  holiday  customs  given  in  my  preceding 


36 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


writings  related  to  usages  which  have  entirely  passed  away.  Critics 
who  reside  in  cities  have  little  idea  of  the  primitive  manners  and  ob 
servances  which  still  prevail  in  remote  and  rural  neighborhoods. 

In  fact,  in  crossing  the  Trent  one  seems  to  step  back  into  old 
times ;  and  in  the  villages  of  Sherwood  Forest  we  are  in  a  black-letter 
region.  The  moss-green  cottages,  the  lowly  mansions  of  gray  stone, 
the  Gothic  crosses  at  each  end  of  the  villages,  and  the  tall  May-pole 
in  the  centre,  transport  us  in  imagination  to  foregone  centuries, 
everything  has  a  quaint  and  antiquated  air.  D.] 


BARLBOROUGH  HALL 


CHRISTMAS 

[COMMENT.  —  The  first  of  the  Christmas  papers  is  merely 
an  introductory  essay  and  follows  the  usual  model.  A  general 
statement  sets  forth  indirectly  Irving's  own  special  interest 
in  the  subject,  then  statements  less  general  narrow  the  broad 
subject  of  "holiday  customs  and  rural  games  "  to  the  special 
festivities  and  customs  of  Christmas  time,  to  commemorate 
which  the  following  essays  were  written.  The  last  paragraph 
defines  the  point  of  view  and  the  interest  of  the  author  him 
self.  D.] 

But  is  old,  old,  good  old  Christmas  gone  ?  Nothing  but  the  hair  of 
his  good,  gray,  old  head  and  beard  left?  Well,  I  will  have  that,  see 
ing  I  cannot  have  more  of  him.  —  HUE  AND  CRY  AFTER  CHRISTMAS. 

A  man  might  then  behold 

At  Christmas,  in  each  hall 
Good  fires  to  curb  the  cold, 

And  meat  for  great  and  small. 
The  neighbors  were  friendly  bidden, 

And  all  had  welcome  true  ; 
The  poor  from  the  gates  were  not  chidden 

When  this  old  cap  was  new.  —  OLD  SONG. 

1.  Nothing  in  England  exercises  a  more  delightful  spell 
over  my  imagination  than  the  lingerings  of  the  holiday  cus 
toms  and  rural  games  of  former  times.  They  recall  the  pic 
tures  my  fancy  used  to  draw  in  the  May  morning  of  life,  when 
as  yet  I  only  knew  the  world  through  books,  and  believed 
it  to  be  all  that  poets  had  painted  it;  and  they  bring  with 
them  the  flavor  of  those  honest  days  of  yore,  in  which,  per 
haps,  with  equal  fallacy,  I  am  apt  to  think  the  world  was  more 
homebred,  social,  and  joyous  than  at  present.  I  regret  to  say 
that  they  are  daily  growing  more  and  more  faint,  being  grad 
ually  worn  away  by  time,  but  still  more  obliterated  by  modern 
fashion.  They  resemble  those  picturesque  morsels  of  Gothic 
architecture,  which  we  see  crumbling  in  various  parts  of  the 
country,  partly  dilapidated  by  the  waste  of  ages,  and  partly 
lost  in  the  additions  and  alterations  of  later  days.  Poetry, 
however,  clings  with  cherishing  fondness  about  the  rural 
game  and  holiday  revel,  from  which  it  has  derived  so  many 
of  its  themes  —  as  the  ivy  winds  its  rich  foliage  about  the 

37 


38  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Gothic  arch  and  mouldering  tower,  gratefully  repaying  their 
support  by  clasping  together  their  tottering  remains,  and, 
as  it  were,  embalming  them  in  verdure. 

2.  Of  all  the  old  festivals,  however,  that  of  Christmas 
awakens    the    strongest    and    most    heartfelt    associations. 
There  is  a  tone  of  solemn  and  sacred  feeling  that  blends  with 
our  conviviality,  and  lifts  the  spirit  to  a  state  of  hallowed  and 
elevated  enjoyment.     The  services  of  the  church  about  this 
season  are  extremely  tender  and  inspiring.     They  dwell  on 
the  beautiful  story  of  the  origin  of  our  faith,  and  the  pastoral 
scenes  that  accompanied  its  announcement.     They  gradually 
increase  in  fervor  and  pathos  during  the  season  of  Advent, 
until  they  break  forth  in  full  jubilee  on  the  morning  that 
brought  peace  and  good-will  to  men.     I  do  not  know  a  grander 
effect  of  music  on  the  moral  feelings  than  to  hear  the  full  choir 
and  the  pealing  organ  performing  a  Christmas  anthem  in  a 
cathedral,  and  filling  every  part  of  the  vast  pile  with  trium 
phant  harmony. 

3.  It  is  a  beautiful  arrangement,  also,  derived  from  days 
of  yore,  that  this  festival,  which  commemorates  the  announce 
ment  of  the  religion  of  peace  and  love,  has  been  made  the 
season  for  gathering  together  of  family  connections,  and  draw 
ing  closer  again  those  bands  of  kindred  hearts,  which  the  cares 
and  pleasures  and  sorrows  of  the  world  are  continually  oper 
ating  to  cast  loose ;   of  calling  back  the  children  of  a  family, 
who  have  launched  forth  in  life,  and  wandered  widely  asun 
der,  once  more  to  assemble  about  the  paternal  hearth,  that 
rallying-place  of  the  affections,  there  to  grow  young  and  loving 
again  among  the  endearing  mementos  of  childhood. 

4.  There  is  something  in  the  very  season  of  the  year  that 
gives  a  charm  to  the  festivity  of  Christmas.     At  other  times 
we  derive  a  great  portion  of  our  pleasures  from  the  mere  beau 
ties  of  nature.     Our  feelings  sally  forth  and  dissipate  them 
selves  over  the  sunny  landscape,  and  we  "live  abroad  and 
everywhere."    The  song  of  the  bird,  the  murmur  of  the  stream, 
the  breathing  fragrance  of  spring,  the  soft  voluptuousness 
of  summer,  the  golden  pomp   of  autumn;    earth  with  its 
mantle  of  refreshing  green,  and  heaven  with  its  deep  deli- 


CHRISTMAS  39 

cious  blue  and  its  cloudy  magnificence,  all  fill  us  with  mute 
but  exquisite  delight,  and  we  revel  in  the  luxury  of  mere  sen 
sation.  But  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  nature  lies  de 
spoiled  of  every  charm,  and  wrapped  in  her  shroud  of  sheeted 
snow,  we  turn  for  our  gratifications  to  moral  sources.  The 
dreariness  and  desolation  of  the  landscape,  the  short  gloomy 
days  and  darksome  nights,  while  they  circumscribe  our  wan 
derings,  shut  in  our  feelings  also  from  rambling  abroad,  and 
make  us  more  keenly  disposed  for  the  pleasure  of  the  social 
circle.  Our  thoughts  are  more  concentrated;  our  friendly 
sympathies  more  aroused.  We  feel  more  sensibly  the  charm 
of  each  other's  society,  and  are  brought  more  closely  together 
by  dependence  on  each  other  for  enjoyment.  Heart  calleth 
unto  heart ;  and  we  draw  our  pleasures  from  the  deep  wells  of 
loving-kindness,  which  lie  in  the  quiet  recesses  of  our  bosoms ; 
and  which,  when  resorted  to,  furnish  forth  the  pure  element 
of  domestic  felicity. 

5.  The  pitchy  gloom  without  makes  the  heart  dilate  on 
entering  the  room  filled  with  the  glow  and  warmth  of  the 
evening  fire.    The  ruddy  blaze  diffuses  an  artificial  summer  and 
sunshine  through  the  room,  and  lights  up  each  countenance  in  a 
kindlier  welcome.     Where  does  the  honest  face  of  hospitality 
expand  into  a  broader  and  more  cordial  smile  —  where  is 
the  shy  glance  of  love  more  sweetly  eloquent  —  than  by  the 
winter  fireside?     and  as  the  hollow  blast  of  wintry  wind 
rushes  through  the  hall,  claps  the  distant  door,  whistles  about 
the  casement,  and  rumbles  down  the  chimney,  what  can  be 
more  grateful  than  that  feeling  of  sober  and  sheltered  security, 
with  which  we  look  round  upon  the  comfortable  chamber  and 
the  scene  of  domestic  hilarity? 

6.  The  English,  from  the  great  prevalence  of  rural  habit 
throughout  every  class  of  society  have  always  been  fond  of 
those  festivals  and  holidays  which  agreeably  interrupt  the 
stillness  of  country  life ;  and  they  were,  in  former  days,  par 
ticularly  observant  of  the  religious  and  social  rights  of  Christ 
mas.     It  is  inspiring  to  read  even  the  dry  details  which  some 
antiquaries  have  given  of  the  quaint  humors,  the  burlesque 
pageants,  the  complete  abandonment  to  mirth  and  good-fel- 


40  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

lowship,  with  which  this  festival  was  celebrated.  It  seemed 
to  throw  open  every  door,  and  unlock  every  heart.  It 
brought  the  peasant  and  the  peer  together,  and  blended  all 
ranks  in  one  warm  generous  flow  of  joy  and  kindness.  The 
old  halls  of  castles  and  manor-houses  resounded  with  the 
harp  and  the  Christmas  carol,  and  their  ample  boards  groaned 
under  the  weight  of  hospitality.  Even  the  poorest  cottage 
welcomed  the  festive  season  with  green  decorations  of  bay  and 
holly,  —  the  cheerful  fire  glanced  its  rays  through  the  lattice, 
inviting  the  passengers  to  raise  the  latch,  and  join  the  gossip 
knot  huddled  round  the  hearth,  beguiling  the  long  evening 
with  legendary  jokes  and  oft-told  Christmas  tales. 

7.  One  of  the  least  pleasing  effects  of  modern  refinement 
is  the  havoc  it  has  made  among  the  hearty  old  holiday  cus 
toms.  It  has  completely  taken  off  the  sharp  touchings  and 
spirited  reliefs  of  these  embellishments  of  life,  and  has  worn 
down  society  into  a  more  smooth  and  polished,  but  certainly 
a  less  characteristic  surface.  Many  of  the  games  and  cere 
monials  of  Christmas  have  entirely  disappeared,  and,  like 
the  sherris  sack  of  old  Falstaff,  are  become  matters  of  specu 
lation  and  dispute  among  commentators.  They  flourished 
in  times  full  of  spirit  and  lustihood,  when  men  enjoyed  life 
roughly,  but  heartily  and  vigorously ;  times  wild  and  pictu 
resque,  which  have  furnished  poetry  with  its  richest  materials, 
and  the  drama  with  its  most  attractive  variety  of  characters 
and  manners.  The  world  has  become  more  worldly.  There 
is  more  of  dissipation,  and  less  of  enjoyment.  Pleasure  has 
expanded  into  a  broader,  but  a  shallower  stream,  and  has 
forsaken  many  of  those  deep  and  quiet  channels  where  it 
flowed  sweetly  through  the  calm  bosom  of  domestic  life. 
Society  has  acquired  a  more  enlightened  and  elegant  tone; 
but  it  has  lost  many  of  its  strong  local  peculiarities,  its  home 
bred  feelings,  its  honest  fireside  delights.  The  traditionary 
customs  of  golden-hearted  antiquity,  its  feudal  hospitalities, 
and  lordly  wassailings,  have  passed  away  with  the  baronial 
castles  and  stately  manor-houses  in  which  they  were  cele 
brated.  They  comported  with  the  shadowy  hall,  the  great 
oaken  gallery,  and  the  tapestried  parlor,  but  are  unfitted  to 


CHRISTMAS  41 

the  light  showy  saloons  and  gay  drawing-rooms  of  the  modern 
villa. 

8.  Shorn,  however,  as  it  is,  of  its  ancient  and  festive  honors, 
Christmas  is  still  a  period  of  delightful  excitement  in  England. 
It  is  gratifying  to  see  that  home-feeling  completely  aroused 
which  holds  so  powerful  a  place  in  every  English  bosom.     The 
preparations  making  on  every  side  for  the  social  board  that 
is  again  to  unite  friends  and  kindred;   the  presents  of  good 
cheer  passing  and  repassing,   those  tokens  of  regard,  and 
quickeners  of  kind  feelings ;  the  evergreens  distributed  about 
houses,  and  churches,  emblems  of  peace  and  gladness;    all 
these  have  the  most  pleasing  effect  in  producing  fond  associa 
tions,  and  kindling  benevolent  sympathies.     Even  the  sound 
of  the  Waits,  rude  as  may  be  their  minstrelsy,  breaks  upon 
the  mid-watches  of  a  winter  night  with  the  effect  of  perfect 
harmony.     As  I  have  been  awakened  by  them  in  that  still 
and  solemn  hour,  "when  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  man,"    I 
have  listened  with  a  hushed  delight,  and,  connecting  them 
with  the  sacred  and  joyous  occasion,  have  almost  fancied 
them  into  another  celestial  choir,  announcing  peace  and  good 
will  to  mankind. 

9.  How  delightfully  the  imagination,  when  wrought  upon 
by  these  moral  influences,  turns  everything  to  melody  and 
beauty !    The  very  crowing  of  the  cock,  heard  sometimes  in 
the   profound   repose   of   the    country,    "telling   the   night- 
watches  to  his  feathery  dames,"  was  thought  by  the  common 
people  to  announce  the  approach  of  this  sacred  festival. 

"  Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long ; 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome  —  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  no  witch  hath  power  to  charm 
So  hallow 'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time." 

Amidst  the  general  call  to  happiness,  the  bustle  of  the  spirits, 
and  stir  of  the  affections,  which  prevail  at  this  period,  what 
bosom  can  remain  insensible?  It  is,  indeed,  the  season  of 
regenerated  feeling  —  the  season  for  kindling,  not  merely 


42 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK 


the  fire  of  hospitality  in  the  hall,  but  the  genial  flame  of 
charity  in  the  heart. 

10.  The  scene  of  early  love  again  rises  green  to  memory 
beyond  the  sterile  waste  of  years;    and  the  idea  of  home, 
fraught  with  the  fragrance  of  home-dwelling  joys,  reanimates 
the  drooping  spirit  as  the  Arabian  breeze  will  sometimes  waft 
the  freshness  of  the  distant  fields  to  the  weary  pilgrim  of  the 
desert. 

11.  Stranger  and  sojourner  as  I  am  in  the  land  —  though 
for  me  no  social  hearth  may  blaze,  no  hospitable  roof  throw 
open  its  doors,  nor  the  warm  grasp  of  friendship  welcome  me 
at  the  threshold — yet  I  feel  the  influence  of  the  season  beam 
ing  into  my  soul  from  the  happy  looks  of  those  around  me. 
Surely,  happiness  is  reflective,  like  the  light  of  heaven ;  and 
every  countenance,  bright  with  smiles,  and  glowing  with  in 
nocent  enjoyment,  is  a  mirror  transmitting  to  others  the  rays 
of  a  supreme  and  ever-shining  benevolence.     He  who  can 
turn  churlishly  away  from  contemplating  the  felicity  of  his 
fellow-beings,  and  can  sit  down  darkling  and  repining  in  his 
loneliness  when  all  around  is  joyful,  may  have  his  moments 
of  strong  excitement  and  selfish  gratification,  but  he  wants  the 
genial  and  social  sympathies  which  constitute  the  charm  of  a 
merry  Christmas. 


A  STAGE-COACH  OF  1825 


THE  STAGE-COACH 

[COMMENT.  —  There  is  in  "  The  Stage-Coach  "  an  essay  form, 
or  outline,  which  is  the  narrative  of  the  personal  experiences 
of  a  traveller.  There  is  woven  into  this  narrative  a  bit  of 
story  in  which  several  characters  appear.  This  story  may  be 
outlined,  or  told,  as  a  separate  story,  but  the  part  of  it  which 
Irving  witnessed  that  day  in  the  coach  fits  into  his  narrative 
and  was  a  chief  source  of  his  own  interest  and  pleasure.  D.] 


Omne 

Sine  poena 
Tempus  est  ludendi. 

Venit  hora 

Absque  mora 
Libros  deponendi. 

—  OLD  HOLIDAY  SCHOOL  SONG. 

1.  In  the  preceding  paper  I  have  made  some  general  ob 
servations  on  the  Christmas  festivities  of  England,  and  am 
tempted  to  illustrate  them  by  some  anecdotes  of  a  Christmas 
passed  in  the  country  ;  in  perusing  which  I  would  most  cour 
teously  invite  my  reader  to  lay  aside  the  austerity  of  wisdom, 
and  to  put  on  that  genuine  holiday  spirit  which  is  tolerant 
of  folly,  and  anxious  only  for  amusement. 

2.  In  the  course  of  a  December  tour  in  Yorkshire,  I  rode 
for  a  long  distance  in  one  of  the  public  coaches,  on  the  day 
preceding  Christmas.     The  coach  was  crowded,  both  inside 
and  out,  with  passengers,  who,  by  their  talk,  seemed  princi 
pally  bound  to  the  mansions  of  relations  or  friends,  to  eat  the 
Christmas  dinner.     It  was  loaded  also  with  hampers  of  game, 
and  baskets  and  boxes  of  delicacies  ;  and  hares  hung  dangling 
their  long  ears  about  the  coachman's  box,  presents  from  dis 
tant  friends  for    the   impending  feast.      I   had    three   fine 
rosy-cheeked  boys  for  my  fellow-passengers  inside,  full  of  the 
buxom  health  and  manly  spirit  which  I  have  observed  in 
the  children  of  this  country.    They  were  returning  home  for  the 
holidays  in  high  glee,  and  promising  themselves  a  world  of 
enjoyment.     It  was  delightful  to  hear  the  gigantic  plans  of  the 
little  rogues,  and  the  impracticable  feats  they  were  to  perform 

43 


44  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

during  their  six  weeks'  emancipation  from  the  abhorred 
thraldom  of  book,  birch,  and  pedagogue.  They  were  full  of 
anticipations  of  the  meeting  with  the  family  and  household, 
down  to  the  very  cat  and  dog;  and  of  the  joy  they  were  to 
give  their  little  sisters  by  the  presents  with  which  their  pockets 
were  crammed ;  but  the  meeting  to  which  they  seemed  to  look 
forward  with  the  greatest  impatience  was  with  Bantam, 
which  I  found  to  be  a  pony,  and,  according  to  their  talk, 
possessed  of  more  virtues  than  any  steed  since  the  days  of 
Bucephalus.  How  he  could  trot !  how  he  could  run !  and 
then  such  leaps  as  he  would  take  —  there  was  not  a  hedge 
in  the  whole  country  that  he  could  not  clear. 

3.  They  were  under  the  particular  guardianship  of  the 
coachman,  to  whom,  whenever  an  opportunity  presented, 
they  addressed  a  host  of  questions,  and  pronounced  him  one 
of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world.     Indeed,  I  could  not  but 
notice  the  more  than  ordinary  air  of  bustle  and  importance 
of  the  coachman,  who  wore  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  and 
had  a  large  bunch  of  Christmas  greens  stuck  in  the  button 
hole  of  his  coat.     He  is  always  a  personage  full  of  mighty  care 
and  business,  but  he  is  particularly  so  during  this  season, 
having  so  many  commissions  to  execute  in  consequence  of  the 
great  interchange  of  presents.     And  here,  perhaps,  it  may 
not  be  unacceptable  to  my  untravelled  readers,  to  have  a 
sketch  that  may  serve  as  a  general  representation  of  this  very 
numerous  and  important  class  of  functionaries,  who  have  a 
dress,  a  manner,  a  language,  an  air,  peculiar  to  themselves, 
and  prevalent  throughout  the  fraternity ;  so  that,  wherever  an 
English  stage-coachman  may  be  seen,  he  cannot  be  mistaken 
for  one  of  any  other  craft  or  mystery. 

4.  He  has  commonly  a  broad,  full  face,  curiously  mottled 
with  red,  as  if  the  blood  had  been  forced  by  hard  feeding  into 
every  vessel  of  the  skin ;  he  is  swelled  into  jolly  dimensions  by 
frequent  potations  of  malt  liquors,  and  his  bulk  is  still  further 
increased  by  a  multiplicity  of  coats,  in  which  he  is  buried  like 
a  cauliflower,  the  upper  one  reaching  to  his  heels.     He  wears 
a  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  hat;    a  huge  roll  of  colored 
handkerchief  about  his  neck,  knowingly  knotted  and  tucked 


THE  STAGE-COACH  45 

in  at  the  bosom  ;  and  has  in  summer-time  a  large  bouquet  of 
flowers  in  his  button-hole;  the  present,  most  probably,  of 
some  enamoured  country  lass.  His  waistcoat  is  commonly 
of  some  bright  color,  striped,  and  his  small-clothes  extend  far 
below  the  knees,  to  meet  a  pair  of  jockey-boots  which  reach 
about  half  way  up  his  legs. 

5.  All  this  costume  is  maintained  with  much  precision ;  he 
has  a  pride  in  having  his  clothes  of  excellent  materials ;  and, 
notwithstanding  the  seeming  grossness  of   his  appearance, 
there  is  still  discernible  that  neatness  and  propriety  of  person 
which  is  almost  inherent  in  an  Englishman.     He  enjoys  great 
consequence  and  consideration  along  the  road ;  has  frequent 
conferences  with  the  village  housewives,  who  look  upon  him 
as  a  man  of  great  trust  and  dependence;   and  he  seems  to 
have  a  good  understanding  with  every  bright-eyed  country 
lass.    The  moment  he  arrives  where  the  horses   are  to  be 
changed,  he  throws  down  the  reins  with  something  of  an  air, 
and  abandons  the  cattle  to  the  care  of  the  hostler ;  his  duty 
being  merely  to  drive  from  one  stage  to  another.    When  off 
the  box,  his  hands  are  thrust  into  the  pockets  of  his  great-coat, 
and  he  rolls  about  the  inn-yard  with  an  air  of  the  most  abso 
lute  lordliness.     Here  he  is  generally  surrounded  by  an  admir 
ing  throng  of  hostlers,  stable-boys,  shoeblacks,  and  those  name 
less  hangers-on,  that  infest  inns  and  taverns,  and  run  errands, 
and  do  all  kind  of  odd  jobs,  for  the  privilege  of  battening  on 
the  drippings  of  the  kitchen  and  the  leakage  of  the  tap-room. 
These  all  look  up  to  him  as  to  an  oracle ;  treasure  up  his  cant 
phrases;   echo  his  opinions  about  horses  and  other  topics  of 
jockey  lore ;   and,  above  all,  endeavor  to  imitate  his  air  and 
carriage.     Every  ragamuffin  that  has  a  coat  to  his  back, 
thrusts  his  hands  in  the  pockets,  rolls  in  his  gait,  talks  slang, 
and  is  an  embryo  Coachey. 

6.  Perhaps  it  might  be  owing  to  the  pleasing  serenity  that 
reigned  in  my  own  mind,  that  I  fancied  I  saw  cheerfulness  in 
every  countenance  throughout  the  journey.     A  stage-coach, 
however,  carries  animation  always  with  it,  and  puts  the  world 
in  motion  as  it  whirls  along.     The  horn,  sounded  at  the  en 
trance  of  a  village,  produces  a  general  bustle.     Some  hasten 


46  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

forth  to  meet  friends;  some  with  bundles  and  bandboxes  to 
secure  places,  and  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment  can  hardly  take 
leave  of  the  group  that  accompanies  them.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  coachman  has  a  world  of  small  commissions  to  exe 
cute.  Sometimes  he  delivers  a  hare  or  pheasant ;  sometimes 
jerks  a  small  parcel  or  newspaper  to  the  door  of  a  public  house ; 
and  sometimes,  with  knowing  leer  and  words  of  sly  import, 
hands  to  some  half -blushing,  half -laughing  housemaid  an  odd- 
shaped  billet-doux  from  some  rustic  admirer.  As  the  coach 
rattles  through  the  village,  every  one  runs  to  the  window, 
and  you  have  glances  on  every  side  of  fresh  country  faces 
and  blooming  giggling  girls.  At  the  corners  are  assembled 
juntos  of  village  idlers  and  wise  men,  who  take  their  stations 
there  for  the  important  purpose  of  seeing  company  pass ;  but 
the  sagest  knot  is  generally  at  the  blacksmith's,  to  whom 
the  passing  of  the  coach  is  an  event  fruitful  of  much  specu 
lation.  The  smith,  with  the  horse's  heel  in  his  lap,  pauses 
as  the  vehicle  whirls  by ;  the  cyclops  round  the  anvil  suspend 
their  ringing  hammers,  and  suffer  the  iron  to  grow  cool ;  and 
the  sooty  spectre,  in  brown  paper  cap,  laboring  at  the  bellows, 
leans  on  the  handle  for  a  moment,  and  permits  the  asthmatic 
engine  to  heave  a  long-drawn  sigh,  while  he  glares  through 
the  murky  smoke  and  sulphureous  gleams  of  the  smithy. 

7.  Perhaps  the  impending  holiday  might  have  given  a  more 
than  usual  animation  to  the  country,  for  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  everybody  was  in  good  looks  and  good  spirits.  Game, 
poultry,  and  other  luxuries  of  the  table,  were  in  brisk  circu 
lation  in  the  villages;  the  grocers',  butchers',  and  fruiterers' 
shops  were  thronged  with  customers.  The  housewives  were 
stirring  briskly  about,  putting  their  dwellings  in  order;  and 
the  glossy  branches  of  holly,  with  their  bright-red  berries, 
began  to  appear  at  the  windows.  The  scene  brought  to  mind 
an  old  writer's  account  of  Christmas  preparations:  "Now 
capons  and  hens,  beside  turkey,  geese,  and  ducks,  with  beef 
and  mutton  —  must  all  die  —  for  in  twelve  days  a  multitude 
of  people  will  not  be  fed  with  a  little.  Now  plums  and  spice, 
sugar  and  honey,  square  it  among  pies  and  broth.  Now  or 
never  must  music  be  in  tune,  for  the  youth  must  dance  and 


THE    STAGE-COACH  47 

sing  to  get  them  a  heat,  while  the  aged  sit  by  the  fire.  The 
country  maid  leaves  half  her  market,  and  must  be  sent  again, 
if  she  forgets  a  pack  of  cards  on  Christmas  eve.  Great  is  the 
contention  of  holly  and  ivy,  whether  master  or  dame  wears 
the  breeches.  Dice  and  cards  benefit  the  butler ;  and  if  the 
cook  do  not  lack  wit,  he  will  sweetly  lick  his  fingers." 

8.  I  was  roused  from  this  fit  of  luxurious  meditation  by  a 
shout  from  my  little  travelling  companions.     They  had  been 
looking  out  of  the  coach-windows  for  the  last  few  miles,  rec 
ognizing  every  tree  and  cottage  as  they  approached  home, 
and  now  there  was  a  general  burst  of  joy.     "There's  John! 
and  there's  old  Carlo  !  and  there's  Bantam  ! "  cried  the  happy 
little  rogues,  clapping  their  hands. 

9.  At  the  end  of  a  lane  there  was  an  old  sober-looking  ser 
vant  in  livery,  waiting  for  them ;   he  was  accompanied  by  a 
superannuated  pointer,  and  by  the  redoubtable  Bantam,  a 
little  old  rat  of  a  pony,  with  a  shaggy  mane  and  long  rusty  tail, 
who  stood  dozing  quietly  by  the  roadside,  little  dreaming  of 
the  bustling  times  that  awaited  him. 

10.  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with  which  the  little 
fellows  leaped  about  the  steady  old  footman,  and  hugged  the 
pointer:  who  wriggled  his  whole  body  for  joy.     But  Bantam 
was  the  great  object  of  interest ;  all  wanted  to  mount  at  once, 
and  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  John  arranged  that  they 
should  ride  by  turns,  and  the  eldest  should  ride  first. 

11.  Off  they  set  at  last;    one  on  the  pony,  with  the  dog 
bounding  and  barking  before  him,  and  the  others  holding 
John's   hands;  both  talking  at  once,  and  overpowering  him 
with  questions  about  home,  and  with  school  anecdotes.    I 
looked  after  them  with  a  feeling  in  which  I  do  not  know 
whether  pleasure  or  melancholy  predominated;    for  I  was 
reminded  of  those  days  when,  like  them,  I  had  neither  known 
care  nor  sorrow,  and  a  holiday  was  the  summit  of  earthly 
felicity.    We  stopped  a  few  moments  afterwards  to  water  the 
horses,  and  on  resuming  our  route,  a  turn  of  the  road  brought 
us  in  sight  of  a  neat  country-seat.     I  could  just  distinguish 
the  forms  of  a  lady  and  two  young  girls  in  the  portico,  and  I 
saw  my  little  comrades,  with  Bantam,  Carlo,  and  old  John, 


48  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

trooping  along  the  carriage-road.  I  leaned  out  of  the  coach- 
window,  in  hopes  of  witnessing  the  happy  meeting,  but  a 
grove  of  trees  shut  it  from  my  sight. 

12.  In  the  evening  we  reached  a  village  where  I  had  deter 
mined  to  pass  the  night.    As  we  drove  into  the  great  gateway 
of  the  inn,  I  saw  on  one  side  the  light  of  a  rousing  kitchen-fire 
beaming  through  a  window.     I  entered,  and  admired,  for 
the  hundredth  time,  that  picture  of  convenience,  neatness, 
and  broad  honest  enjoyment,  the  kitchen  of  an  English  inn. 
It  was  of  spacious  dimensions,  hung  round  with  copper  and  tin 
vessels  highly  polished,  and  decorated  here  and  there  with  a 
Christmas  green.     Hams,  tongues,  and  flitches  of  bacon,  were 
suspended  from  the  ceiling;  a  smoke-jack  made  its  ceaseless 
clanking  beside  the  fireplace,  and  a  clock  ticked  in  one  corner. 
A  well-scoured  deal  table  extended  along  one  side  of  the 
kitchen,  with  a  cold  round  of  beef,  and  other  hearty  viands 
upon  it,  over  which  two  foaming  tankards  of  ale  seemed 
mounting  guard.    Travellers  of  inferior  order  were  preparing 
to  attack  this  stout  repast,  while  others  sat  smoking  and  gos 
siping  over  their  ale  on  two  high-backed  oaken  settles  beside 
the  fire.    Trim  housemaids  were   hurrying   backwards  and 
forwards  under  the  directions  of  a  fresh,  bustling  landlady; 
but  still  seizing  an  occasional  moment  to  exchange  a  flippant 
word,  and  have  a  rallying  laugh,  with  the  group  round  the 
fire.     The  scene  completely  realized  Poor  Robin's  humble 
idea  of  the  comforts  of  mid-winter. 

Now  trees  their  leafy  hats  do  bear 
To  reverence  Winter's  silver  hair; 
A  handsome  hostess,  merry  host, 
A  pot  of  ale  now  and  a  toast, 
Tobacco  and  a  good  coal-fire, 
Are  things  this  season  doth  require.1 

13.  I  had  not  been  long  at  the  inn  when  a  postchaise 
drove  up  to  the  door.     A  young  gentleman  stept  out,  and 
by  the  light  of  the  lamps  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  countenance 
which  I  thought  I  knew.      I  moved  forward  to  get  a  nearer 
view,  when  his  eye  caught  mine.     I  was  not  mistaken ;  it  was 

1  Poor  Robin's  Almanac,  1684. 


THE   STAGE-COACH  49 

Frank  Bracebridge,  a  sprightly,  good-humored  young  fellow, 
with  whom  I  had  once  travelled  on  the  continent.  Our  meet 
ing  was  extremely  cordial,  for  the  countenance  of  an  old 
fellow-traveller  always  brings  up  the  recollection  of  a  thousand 
pleasant  scenes,  odd  adventures,  and  excellent  jokes.  To 
discuss  all  these  in  a  transient  interview  at  an  inn  was  im 
possible  ;  and  finding  that  I  was  not  pressed  for  time,  and  was 
merely  making  a  tour  of  observation,  he  insisted  that  I  should 
give  him  a  day  or  two  at  his  father's  country-seat,  to  which  he 
was  going  to  pass  the  holidays,  and  which  lay  at  a  few  miles' 
distance.  "It  is  better  than  eating  a  solitary  Christmas  din 
ner  at  an  inn,"  said  he;  "and  I  can  assure  you  of  a  hearty 
welcome  in  something  of  the  old-fashioned  style."  His 
reasoning  was  cogent,  and  I  must  confess  the  preparation  I 
had  seen  for  universal  festivity  and  social  enjoyment  had 
made  me  feel  a  little  impatient  of  my  loneliness.  I  closed, 
therefore,  at  once,  with  his  invitation ;  the  chaise  drove  up  to 
the  door,  and  in  a  few  moments  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  family 
mansion  of  the  Bracebridges. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

Saint  Francis  and  Saint  Benedight 

Blesse  this  house  from  wicked  wight ; 

From  the  night-mare  and  the  goblin, 

That  is  hight  good  fellow  Robin ; 

Keep  it  from  all  evil  spirits, 

Fairies,  weezels,  rats,  and  ferrets ; 
From  curfew  time 
To  the  next  prime.  —  CARTWRIGHT. 

1.  It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night,  but  extremely  cold ; 
our  chaise  whirled  rapidly  over  the  frozen  ground ;  the  post 
boy  smacked  his  whip  incessantly,  and  a  part  of  the  time  his 
horses  were  on  a  gallop.  "He  knows  where  he  is  going,"  said 
my  companion,  laughing,  "and  is  eager  to  arrive  in  time  for 
some  of  the  merriment  and  good  cheer  of  the  servants'  hall. 
My  father,  you  must  know,  is  a  bigoted  devotee  of  the  old 
school,  and  prides  himself  upon  keeping  up  something  of  old 
English  hospitality.  He  is  a  tolerable  specimen  of  what  you 
will  rarely  meet  with  nowadays  in  its  purity,  the  old  English 
country  gentleman ;  for  our  men  of  fortune  spend  so  much  of 
their  time  in  town,  and  fashion  is  carried  so  much  into  the 
country,  that  the  strong  rich  peculiarities  of  ancient  rural  life 
are  almost  polished  away.  My  father,  however,  from  early 
years  took  honest  Peacham  1  for  his  text-book,  instead  of 
Chesterfield ;  he  determined  in  his  own  mind  that  there  was 
no  condition  more  truly  honorable  and  enviable  than  that  of 
a  country  gentleman  on  his  paternal  lands,  and  therefore 
passes  the  whole  of  his  time  on  his  estate.  He  is  a  strenuous 
advocate  for  the  revival  of  the  old  rural  games  and  holiday 
observances,  and  is  deeply  read  in  the  writers,  ancient  and 
modern,  who  have  treated  on  the  subject.  Indeed  his  favorite 
range  of  reading  is  among  the  authors  who  flourished  at  least 
two  centuries  since ;  who,  he  insists,  wrote  and  thought  more 
like  true  Englishmen  than  any  of  their  successors.  He  even 
regrets  sometimes  that  he  had  not  been  born  a  few  centuries 
earlier,  when  England  was  itself,  and  had  its  peculiar  manners 

1  Peacham  'a  Complete  Gentleman,  1622. 
50 


CHRISTMAS   EVE  51 

and  customs.  As  he  lives  at  some  distance  from  the  main 
road,  in  rather  a  lonely  part  of  the  country,  without  any  rival 
gentry  near  him,  he  has  that  most  enviable  of  all  blessings 
to  an  Englishman,  an  opportunity  of  indulging  the  bent  of 
his  own  humor  without  molestation.  Being  representative 
of  the  oldest  family  in  the  neighborhood,  and  a  great  part  of 
the  peasantry  being  his  tenants,  he  is  much  looked  up  to,  and, 
in  general,  is  known  simply  by  the  appellation  of  'The  Squire'; 
a  title  which  has  been  accorded  to  the  head  of  the  family  since 
time  immemorial.  I  think  it  best  to  give  you  these  hints 
about  my  worthy  old  father,  to  prepare  you  for  any  eccen 
tricities  that  might  otherwise  appear  absurd." 

2.  We  had  passed  for  some  time  along  the  wall  of  a  park, 
and  at  length  the  chaise  stopped  at  the  gate.     It  was  in  a 
heavy  magnificent  old  style,  of  iron  bars,  fancifully  wrought 
at  top  into  flourishes  and  flowers.     The  huge  square  columns 
that  supported  the  gate  were  surmounted  by  the  family  crest. 
Close  adjoining  was  the  porter's  lodge,  sheltered  under  dark 
fir-trees,  and  almost  buried  in  shrubbery. 

3.  The  post-boy  rang  a  large  porter's  bell,  which  resounded 
through  the  still  frosty  air,  and  was  answered  by  the  distant 
barking  of  dogs,  with  which  the  mansion-house  seemed  gar 
risoned.    An  old  woman  immediately  appeared  at  the  gate. 
As  the  moonlight  fell  strongly  upon  her,  I  had  a  full  view  of  a 
little  primitive  dame,  dressed  very  much  in  the  antique  taste, 
with  a  neat  kerchief  and  stomacher,  and  her  silver  hair  peep 
ing  from  under  a  cap  of  snowy  whiteness.     She  came  cour- 
tesying  forth,  with  many  expressions  of  simple  joy  at  seeing 
her  young  master.     Her  husband,  it  seemed,  was  up  at  the 
house  keeping  Christmas  eve  in  the  servants'  hall ;  they  could 
not  do  without  him,  as  he  was  the  best  hand  at  a  song  and 
story  in  the  household. 

4.  My  friend  proposed  that  we  should  alight  and  walk 
through  the  park  to  the  hall,  which  was  at  no  great  distance, 
while  the  chaise  should  follow  on.     Our  road  wound  through 
a  noble  avenue  of  trees,  among  the  naked  branches  of  which 
the  moon  glittered,  as  she  rolled  through  the  deep  vault  of  a 
cloudless  sky.     The  lawn  beyond  was  sheeted  with  a  slight 


52  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

covering  of  snow,  which  here  and  there  sparkled  as  the 
moonbeams  caught  a  frosty  crystal ;  and  at  a  distance  might 
be  seen  a  thin  transparent  vapor,  stealing  up  from  the 
low  grounds,  and  threatening  gradually  to  shroud  the 
landscape. 

5.  My   companion   looked   around   him   with   transport: 
"How  often,"  said  he,  "have  I  scampered  up  this  avenue, 
on  returning  home  on  school  vacations !     How  often  have  I 
played  under  these  trees  when  a  boy !     I  feel  a  degree  of  filial 
reverence  for  them,  as  we  look  up  to  those  who  have  cherished 
us  in  childhood.     My  father  was  always  scrupulous  in  exacting 
our  holidays,  and  having  us  around  him  on  family  festivals. 
He  used  to  direct  and  superintend  our  games  with  the  strict 
ness  that  some  parents  do  the  studies  of  their  children.     He 
was  very  particular  that  we  should  play  the  old  English  games 
according  to  their  original  form ;  and  consulted  old  books  for 
precedent  and  authority  for  every  'merrie  disport';    yet  I 
assure  you  there  never  was  pedantry  so  delightful.     It  was  the 
policy  of  the  good  old  gentleman  to  make  his  children  feel 
that  home  was  the  happiest  place  in  the  world ;  and  I  value 
this  delicious  home-feeling  as  one  of  the  choicest  gifts  a  parent 
could  bestow." 

6.  We  were  interrupted  by  the  clamor  of  a  troop  of  dogs 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  "mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 
and  curs  of  low  degree,"  that,  disturbed  by  the  ring  of  the 
porter's  bell  and  the  rattling  of  the  chaise,  came  bounding, 
open-mouthed,  across  the  lawn. 

" ' The  little  dogs  and  all, 

Tray,  Blanch,  and  Sweetheart,  see,  they  bark  at  me !' " 

cried  Bracebridge,  laughing.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the 
bark  was  changed  into  a  yelp  of  delight,  and  in  a  moment  he 
was  surrounded  and  almost  overpowered  by  the  caresses  of  the 
faithful  animals. 

7.  We  had  now  come  in  full  view  of  the  old  family  mansion, 
partly  thrown  in  deep  shadow,  and  partly  lit  up  by  the  cool 
moonshine.     It  was  an  irregular  building,  of  some  magnitude, 
and  seemed  to  be  of  the  architecture  of  different  periods.  — 


CHRISTMAS   EVE  53 

One  wing  was  evidently  very  ancient,  with  heavy  stone- 
shafted  bow-windows  jutting  out  and  overrun  with  ivy,  from 
among  the  foliage  of  which  the  small  diamond-shaped  panes 
of  glass  glittered  with  the  moonbeams.  The  rest  of  the  house 
was  in  the  French  taste  of  Charles  the  Second's  time,  having 
been  repaired  and  altered,  as  my  friend  told  me,  by  one  of  his 
ancestors,  who  returned  with  that  monarch  at  the  Restoration. 
The  grounds  about  the  house  were  laid  out  in  the  old  formal 
manner  of  artificial  flower-beds,  clipped  shrubberies,  raised 
terraces,  and  heavy  stone  balustrades,  ornamented  with  urns, 
a  leaden  statue  or  two,  and  a  jet  of  water.  The  old  gentleman, 
I  was  told,  was  extremely  careful  to  preserve  this  obsolete 
finery  in  all  its  original  state.  He  admired  this  fashion  in 
gardening;  it  had  an  air  of  magnificence,  was  courtly  and 
noble,  and  befitting  good  old  family  style.  The  boasted  imi 
tation  of  nature  in  modern  gardening  had  sprung  up  with 
modern  republican  notions,  but  did  not  suit  a  monarchical 
government ;  it  smacked  of  the  levelling  system.  I  could  not 
help  smiling  at  this  introduction  of  politics  into  gardening, 
though  I  expressed  some  apprehension  that  I  should  find  the 
old  gentleman  rather  intolerant  in  his  creed.  Frank  assured 
me,  however,  that  it  was  almost  the  only  instance  in  which  he 
had  ever  heard  his  father  meddle  with  politics;  and  he  be 
lieved  that  he  had  got  this  notion  from  a  member  of  parlia 
ment  who  once  passed  a  few  weeks  with  him.  The  Squire 
was  glad  of  any  argument  to  defend  his  clipped  yew-trees  and 
formal  terraces,  which  had  been  occasionally  attacked  by 
modern  landscape  gardeners. 

8.  As  we  approached  the  house,  we  heard  the  sound  of 
music,  and  now  and  then  a  burst  of  laughter,  from  one  end  of 
the  building.  This,  Bracebridge  said,  must  proceed  from  the 
servants'  hall,  where  a  great  deal  of  revelry  was  permitted, 
and  even  encouraged  by  the  Squire,  throughout  the  twelve 
days  of  Christmas,  provided  everything  was  done  conformably 
to  ancient  usage.  Here  were  kept  up  the  old  games  of  hood- 
man  blind,  shoe  the  wild  mare,  hot  cockles,  steal  the  white 
loaf,  bob  apple,  and  snap-dragon ;  the  Yule  clog  and  Christ 
mas  candle  were  regularly  burnt,  and  the  mistletoe,  with  its 


54  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

white  berries,  hung  up,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  all  the  pretty 
housemaids.1 

9.  So  intent  were  the  servants  upon  their  sports  that  we 
had  to  ring  repeatedly  before  we  could  make  ourselves  heard. 
On  our  arrival  being  announced,  the  Squire  came  out  to 
receive  us,  accompanied  by  his  two  other  sons :  one  a  young 
officer  in  the  army,  home  on  leave  of  absence ;  the  other  an 
Oxonian,  just  from  the  university.     The  Squire  was  a  fine 
healthy-looking  old  gentleman,  with  silver  hair  curling  lightly 
round  an  open  florid  countenance;   in  which  the  physiogno 
mist,  with  the  advantage,  like  myself,  of  a  previous  hint  or 
two,  might  discover  a  singular  mixture  of  whim  and  benevo 
lence. 

10.  The  family  meeting  was  warm  and  affectionate :    as 
the  evening  was  far  advanced,  the  Squire  would  not  permit 
us  to  change  our  travelling  dresses,  but  ushered  us  at  once  to 
the  company,  which  was  assembled  in  a  large  old-fashioned 
hall.     It  was  composed  of  different  branches  of  a  numerous 
family  connection,  where  there  were  the  usual  proportion  of 
old  uncles  and  aunts,  comfortable  married  dames,  superan 
nuated    spinsters,    blooming    country    cousins,    half-fledged 
striplings,  and  bright-eyed  boarding-school  hoydens.     They 
were  variously  occupied :    some  at  a  round  game  of  cards ; 
others  conversing  around  the  fireplace ;  at  one  end  of  the  hall 
was  a  group  of  the  young  folks,  some  nearly  grown  up,  others 
of  a  more  tender  and  budding  age,  fully  engrossed  by  a  merry 
game ;  and  a  profusion  of  wooden  horses,  penny  trumpets,  and 
tattered  dolls,  about  the  floor,  showed  traces  of  a  troop  of 
little  fairy  beings  who,  having  frolicked  through  a  happy  day, 
had  been  carried  off  to  slumber  through  a  peaceful  night. 

11.  While  the  mutual  greetings  wrere  going  on  between 
young  Bracebridge  and  his  relatives,  I  had  time  to  scan  the 
apartment.     I  have  called  it  a  hall,  for  so  it  had  certainly  been 
in  old  times,  and  the  Squire  had  evidently  endeavored  to  re- 

1  The  mistletoe  is  still  hung  up  in  farm-houses  and  kitchens  at 
Christmas ;  and  the  young  men  have  the  privilege  of  kissing  the  girls 

berry  from    the    bush.     When  the 


under  it,   plucking  each   time   a  be 
berries  are  all  plucked,  the  privilege 


BRINGING  IN  THE  YULE-LOG 


56  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

store  it  to  something  of  its  primitive  state.  Over  the  heavy 
projecting  fireplace  was  suspended  a  picture  of  a  warrior  in 
armor,  standing  by  a  white  horse,  and  on  the  opposite  wall 
hung  a  helmet,  buckler,  and  lance.  At  one  end  an  enormous 
pair  of  antlers  were  inserted  in  the  wall,  the  branches  serving 
as  hooks  on  which  to  suspend  hats,  whips,  and  spurs ;  and  in 
the  corners  of  the  apartment  were  fowling-pieces,  fishing-rods, 
and  other  sporting  implements.  The  furniture  was  of  the 
cumbrous  workmanship  of  former  days,  though  some  articles 
of  modern  convenience  had  been  added,  and  the  oaken  floor 
had  been  carpeted ;  so  that  the  whole  presented  an  odd  mix 
ture  of  parlor  and  hall. 

12.  The  grate  had  been  removed  from  the  wide  overwhelm 
ing  fireplace,  to  make  way  for  a  fire  of  wood,  in  the  midst  of 
which  was  an  enormous  log  glowing  and  blazing,  and  sending 
forth  a  vast  volume  of  light  and  heat :  this  I  understood  was 
the  Yule  clog,  which  the  Squire  was  particular  in  having 
brought  in  and  illumined  on  a  Christmas  eve,  according  to 
ancient  custom.1 

13.  It  was  really  delightful  to  see  the  old  Squire  seated  in 
his  hereditary  elbow-chair,  by  the  hospitable  fireside  of  his 
ancestors,  and  looking  around  him  like  the  sun  of  a  system, 

1  The  Yule  clog  is  a  great  log  of  wood,  sometimes  the  root  of  a  tree, 
brought  into  the  house  with  great  ceremony,  on  Christmas  eve,  laid 
in  the  fireplace,  and  lighted  with  the  brand  of  last  year's  clog.  While 
it  lasted,  there  was  great  drinking,  singing,  and  telling  of  tales.  Some 
times  it  was  accompanied  by  Christmas  candles  ;  but  in  the 
cottages  the  only  light  was  from  the  ruddy  blaze  of  the  great  wood- 
fire.  The  Yule  clog  was  to  burn  all  night ;  if  it  went  out,  it  was  con 
sidered  a  sign  of  ill-luck. 

Herrick  mentions  it  in  one  of  his  songs :  — 
"Come,  bring  with  a  noise, 
My  merrie,  merrie  boyes, 
The  Christmas  log  to  the  firing  : 
While  my  good  dame,  she 
Bids  ye  all  be  free, 
And  drink  to  your  hearts'  desiring." 

The  Yule  clog  is  still  burnt  in  many  farm-houses  and  kitchens  in 
England,  particularly  in  the  north,  and  there  are  several  supersti 
tions  connected  with  it  among  the  peasantry.  If  a  squinting  person 
come  to  the  house  while  it  is  burning,  or  a  person  barefooted,  it  is  con 
sidered  an  ill  omen.  The  brand  remaining  from  the  Yule  clog  is 
carefully  put  away  to  light  the  next  year's  Christmas  fire. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE  57 

beaming  warmth  and  gladness  to  every  heart.  Even  the  very 
dog  that  lay  stretched  at  his  feet,  as  he  lazily  shifted  his  posi 
tion  and  yawned,  would  look  fondly  up  in  his  master's  face, 
wag  his  tail  against  the  floor,  and  stretch  himself  again  to 
sleep,  confident  of  kindness  and  protection.  There  is  an  ema 
nation  from  the  heart  in  genuine  hospitality  which  cannot  be 
described,  but  is  immediately  felt,  and  puts  the  stranger  at 
once  at  his  ease.  I  had  not  been  seated  many  minutes  by  the 
comfortable  hearth  of  the  worthy  old  cavalier,  before  I  found 
myself  as  much  at  home  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  the  family. 

14.  Supper  was  announced  shortly  after  our  arrival.     It 
was   served  up  in  a  spacious  oaken  chamber,  the  panels   of 
which  shone  with  wax,  and  around  which  were  several  family 
portraits  decorated  with  holly  and  ivy.     Besides  the  accus 
tomed  lights,  two  great  wax  tapers,  called  Christmas  candles, 
wreathed    with   greens,    were  placed   on    a    highly-polished 
beaufet  among  the  family  plate.     The  table  was  abundantly 
spread  with  substantial  fare ;  but  the  Squire  made  his  supper 
of  frumenty,  a  dish   made  of   wheat-cakes    boiled  in  milk, 
with  rich  spices,   being  a  standing  dish  in  old   times   for 
Christmas  eve. 

15.  I  was  happy  to  find  my  old  friend,  minced-pie,  in  the 
retinue  of  the  feast ;  and  finding  him  to  be  perfectly  orthodox, 
and  that  I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  my  predilection,  I  greeted 
him  with  all  the  warmth  wherewith  we  usually  greet  an  old 
and  very  genteel  acquaintance. 

16.  The  mirth  of  the  company  was  greatly  promoted  by  the 
humors   of  an  eccentric  personage  whom    Mr.  Bracebridge 
always  addressed  with  the  quaint  appellation  of  Master  Simon. 
He  was  a  tight  brisk  little  man,  with  the  air  of  an  arrant  old 
bachelor.     His  nose  was  shaped  like  the  bill  of  a  parrot ;  his 
face  slightly  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  with  a  dry  perpetual 
bloom  on  it,  like  a  frostbitten  leaf  in  autumn.     He  had  an  eye 
of  great  quickness  and  vivacity,  with  a  drollery  and  lurking 
waggery  of  expression  that  was  irresistible.     He  was  evidently 
the  wit  of  the  family,  dealing  very  much  in  sly  jokes  and  in 
nuendoes  with  the  ladies,  and  making  infinite  merriment  by 
harping  upon  old  themes ;  which,  unfortunately,  my  ignorance 


58  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  the  family  chronicles  did  not  permit  me  to  enjoy.  It 
seemed  to  be  his  great  delight  during  supper  to  keep  a  young 
girl  next  him  in  a  continual  agony  of  stifled  laughter,  in  spite 
of  her  awe  of  the  reproving  looks  of  her  mother,  who  sat  op 
posite.  Indeed,  he  was  the  idol  of  the  younger  part  of  the 
company,  who  laughed  at  everything  he  said  or  did,  and  at 
every  turn  of  his  countenance ;  I  could  not  wonder  at  it ;  for 
he  must  have  been  a  miracle  of  accomplishments  in  their  eyes. 
He  could  imitate  Punch  and  Judy ;  make  an  old  woman  of  his 
hand,  with  the  assistance  of  a  burnt  cork  and  pocket-handker 
chief  ;  and  cut  an  orange  into  such  a  ludicrous  caricature,  that 
the  young  folks  were  ready  to  die  with  laughing. 

17.  I  was  let  briefly  into  his  history  by  Frank  Bracebridge. 
He  was  an  old  bachelor,  of  a  small  independent  income,  which, 
by  careful  management,  was  sufficient  for  all  his  wants.  He 
revolved  through  the  family  system  like  a  vagrant  comet  in 
its  orbit;  sometimes  visiting  one  branch,  and  sometimes 
another  quite  remote ;  as  is  often  the  case  with  gentlemen  of 
extensive  connections  and  small  fortunes  in  England.  He 
had  a  chirping  buoyant  disposition,  always  enjoying  the  pres 
ent  moment ;  and  his  frequent  change  of  scene  and  company 
prevented  his  acquiring  those  rusty  unaccommodating  habits, 
with  which  old  bachelors  are  so  uncharitably  charged.  He 
was  a  complete  family  chronicle,  being  versed  in  the  geneal 
ogy,  history,  and  intermarriages  of  the  whole  house  of  Brace- 
bridge,  which  made  him  a  great  favorite  with  the  old  folks; 
he  was  a  beau  of  all  the  elder  ladies  and  superannuated  spin 
sters,  among  whom  he  was  habitually  considered  rather  a 
young  fellow,  and  he  was  master  of  the  revels  among  the 
children;  so  that  there  was  not  a  more  popular  being  in  the 
sphere  in  which  he  moved  than  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge.  Of 
late  years,  he  had  resided  almost  entirely  with  the  Squire,  to 
whom  he  had  become  a  factotum,  and  whom  he  particularly 
delighted  by  jumping  with  his  humor  in  respect  to  old  times, 
and  by  having  a  scrap  of  an  old  song  to  suit  every  occasion. 
We  had  presently  a  specimen  of  his  last-mentioned  talent; 
for  no  sooner  was  supper  removed,  and  spiced  wines  and  other 
beverages  peculiar  to  the  season  introduced,  than  Master 


CHRISTMAS    EVE  59 

Simon  was  called  on  for  a  good  old  Christmas  song.  He 
bethought  himself  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  sparkle  of 
the  eye,  and  a  voice  that  was  by  no  means  bad,  excepting  that 
it  ran  occasionally  into  a  falsetto,  like  the  notes  of  a  split  reed, 
he  quavered  forth  a  quaint  old  ditty. 

"Now  Christinas  is  come, 

Let  us  beat  up  the  drum, 
And  call  all  our  neighbors  together, 

And  when  they  appear, 

Let  us  make  them  such  cheer, 
As  will  keep  out  the  wind  and  the  weather,"  etc. 

18.  The  supper  had  disposed  every  one  to  gayety  and  an 
old  harper  was  summoned  from  the  servants'  hall,  where  he 
had  been  strumming  all  the  evening,  and  to  all  appearance 
comforting  himself  with  some  of  the  Squire's  home-brewed. 
He  was  a  kind  of  hanger-on,  I  was  told,  of  the  establishment, 
and,  though  ostensibly  a  resident  of  the  village,  was  oftener 
to  be  found  in  the  Squire's  kitchen  than  his  own  home,  the 
old  gentleman  being  fond  of  the  sound  of  "harp  in  hall." 

19.  The  dance,  like  most  dances  after  supper,  was  a  merry 
one;  some  of  the  older  folks  joined  in  it,  and  the  Squire  him 
self  figured  down  several  couple  with  a  partner,  with  whom 
he  affirmed  he  had  danced  at  every  Christmas  for  nearly  half 
a  century.     Master  Simon,  who  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  con 
necting  link  between  the  old  times  and  the  new,  and  to  be 
withal  a  little  antiquated  in  the  taste  of  his  accomplishments, 
evidently  piqued  himself  on  his  dancing,  and  was  endeavoring 
to  gain  credit  by  the  heel  and  toe,  rigadoon,  and  other  graces  to 
the  ancient  school ;  but  he  had  unluckily  assorted  himself  with 
a  little  romping  girl  from  boarding-school,  who,  by  her  wild 
vivacity,  kept  him  continually  on  the  stretch,  and  defeated 
all  his  sober  attempts  at  elegance  :  —  such  are  the  illassorted 
matches  to  which  antique  gentlemen  are  unfortunately  prone  ! 

20.  The  young  Oxonian,  on  the  contrary,  had  led  out  one 
of  his  maiden  aunts,  on  whom  the  rogue  played  a  thousand 
little  knaveries  with  impunity  :  he  was  full  of  practical  jokes, 
and  his  delight  was  to  tease  his  aunts  and  cousins;   yet,  like 
all  mad-cap  youngsters,  he  was  a  universal  favorite  among  the 
women.     The  most  interesting  couple  in  the  dance  was  the 


60  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

young  officer  and  a  ward  of  the  Squire's,  a  beautiful  blushing 
girl  of  seventeen.  From  several  shy  glances  which  I  had 
noticed  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  suspected  there  was  a 
little  kindness  growing  up  between  them,  and,  indeed,  the 
young  soldier  was  just  the  hero  to  captivate  a  romantic  girl. 
He  was  tall,  slender,  and  handsome,  and,  like  most  young 
British  officers  of  late  years,  had  picked  up  various  small 
accomplishments  on  the  continent ; — he  could  talk  French  and 
Italian  —  draw  landscapes  —  sing  very  tolerably  —  dance 
divinely ;  but,  above  all,  he  had  been  wounded  at  Waterloo : 
—  what  girl  of  seventeen,  well  read  in  poetry  and  romance, 
could  resist  such  a  mirror  of  chivalry  and  perfection ! 

21.  The  moment  the  dance  was  over,  he  caught  up  a  guitar 
and,  lolling  against  the  old  marble  fireplace,  in  an  attitude 
which  I  am  half  inclined  to  suspect  was  studied,  began  the 
little  French  air  of  the  Troubadour.  The  Squire,  however, 
exclaimed  against  having  anything  on  Christmas  eve  but  good 
old  English;  upon  which  the  young  minstrel,  casting  up  his 
eye  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  an  effort  of  memory,  struck  into 
another  strain,  and,  with  a  charming  air  of  gallantry,  gave 
Herrick's  "  Night-Piece  to  Julia." 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee ; 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee, 

And  the  elves  also, 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Will-o '-the- Wisp  mislight  thee; 
Nor  snake  nor  slow-worm  bite  thee ; 

But  on,  on  thy  way, 

Not  making  a  stay, 
Since  ghost  there  is  none  to  affright  thee. 

Then  let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber  ; 
What  though  the  moon  does  slumber, 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 
Like  tapers  clear  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee, 
Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me, 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet, 
My  soul  I'll  pour  into  thee. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE  61 

22.  The  song  might  or  might  not  have  been  intended  in 
compliment  to  the  fair  Julia,  for  so  I  found  his  partner  was 
called ;   she,  however,  was  certainly  unconscious  of  any  such 
application,  for  she  never  looked  at  the  singer,  but  kept  her 
eyes  cast  upon  the  floor.     Her  face  was  suffused,  it  is  true, 
with  a  beautiful  blush,  and  there  was  a  gentle  heaving  of  the 
bosom,  but  all  that  was  doubtless  caused  by  the  exercise  of 
the  dance;    indeed,  so  great  was  her  indifference,  that  she 
amused  herself  with  plucking  to  pieces  a  choice  bouquet  of 
hot-house  flowers,  and  by  the  time  the  song  was  concluded  the 
nosegay  lay  in  ruins  on  the  floor. 

23.  The  party  now  broke  up  for  the  night  with  the  kind- 
hearted  old  custom  of  shaking  hands.    As  I  passed  through  the 
hall,  on  my  way  to  my  chamber,  the  dying  embers  of  the  Yule 
clog  still  sent  forth  a  dusky  glow,  and  had  it  not  been  the  season 
when  "no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad,"  I  should  have  been  half 
tempted  to  steal  from  my  room  at  midnight,  and  peep  whether 
the  fairies  might  not  be  at  their  revels  about  the  hearth. 

24.  My  chamber  was  in  the  old  part  of  the  mansion,  the 
ponderous  furniture  of  which  might  have  been  fabricated  in' 
the  days  of  the  giants.     The  room  was  panelled  with  cornices 
of  heavy  carved  work,  in  which  flowers  and  grotesque  faces 
were  strangely  intermingled;    and  a  row  of  black-looking 
portraits  stared  mournfully  at  me  from  the  walls.    The  bed 
was  of  rich,  though  faded  damask,  with  a  lofty  tester,  and 
stood  in  a  niche  opposite  a  bow- window.     I  had  scarcely  got 
into  bed  when  a  strain  of  music  seemed  to  break  forth  in  the 
air  just  below  the  window.     I  listened,  and  found  it  proceeded 
from  a  band,  which  I  concluded  to  be  the  waits  from  some  neigh 
boring  village.     They  went  round  the  house,  playing  under 
the  windows.     I  drew  aside  the  curtains  to  hear  them  more 
distinctly.     The  moonbeams  fell  through  the  upper  part  of 
the  casement,  partially  lighting  up  the  antiquated  apartment. 
The  sounds,  as  they  receded,  became  more  soft  and  aerial, 
and  seemed    to   accord  with   the   quiet  and   moonlight.    I 
listened  and  listened,  —  they  became  more  and  more  tender 
and  remote,  and,  as  they  gradually  died  away,  my  head  sunk 
upon  the  pillow,  and  I  fell  asleep. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY 

Dark  and  dull  night,  flie  hence  away, 
And  give  the  honor  to  this  day 
That  sees  December  turn'd  to  May. 

Why  does  the  chilling  winter's  morne 
Smile  like  a  field  beset  with  corn? 
Or  smell  like  to  a  meade  new-shorne, 
Thus  on  the  sudden  ?  —  Come  and  see 
The  cause  why  things  thus  fragrant  be. 

—  HERRICK. 

1.  When  I  woke  the  next  morning,  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
events  of  the  preceding  evening  had  been  a  dream,  and  nothing 
but  the  identity  of  the  ancient  chamber  convinced  me  of  their 
reality.     While  I  lay  musing  on  my  pillow,  I  heard  the  sound 
of  little  feet  pattering  outside  of  the  door,  and  a  whispering 
consultation.     Presently  a  choir  of  small  voices  chanted  forth 
an  old  Christmas  carol,  the  burden  of  which  was  — 

"Rejoice,  our  Saviour  he  was  born 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning." 

2.  I  rose  softly,  slipt  on  my  clothes,  opened  the  door  sud 
denly,  and  beheld  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little  fairy  groups 
that  a  painter  could  imagine.     It  consisted  of  a  boy  and  two 
girls,  the  eldest  not  more  than  six,  and  lovely  as  seraphs. 
They  were  going  the  rounds  of  the  house,  and  singing  at  every 
chamber-door;   but  my  sudden  appearance  frightened  them 
into  mute  bashfulness.     They  remained  for  a  moment  playing 
on  their  lips  with  their  fingers,  and  now  and  then  stealing  a 
shy  glance  from  under  their  eyebrows,  until,  as  if  by  one  im 
pulse,  they  scampered  away,  and  as  they  turned  an  angle  of 
the  gallery,  I  heard  them  laughing  in  triumph  at  their  escape. 

3.  Everything  conspired  to  produce  kind  and  happy  feel 
ings  in   this  stronghold  of   old-fashioned   hospitality.     The 
window  of  my  chamber  looked  out  upon  what  in  summer 
would  have  been  a  beautiful  landscape.     There  was  a  sloping 
lawn,  a  fine  stream  winding  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  a  tract  of 
park  beyond,  with  noble  clumps  of  trees,  and  herds  of  deer. 


CHRISTMAS    DAY  63 

At  a  distance  was  a  neat  hamlet,  with  the  smoke  from  the 
cottage-chimneys  hanging  over  it;  and  a  church  with  its 
dark  spire  in  strong  relief  against  the  clear,  cold  sky.  The 
house  was  surrounded  with  evergreens,  according  to  the  Eng 
lish  custom,  which  would  have  given  almost  an  appearance  of 
summer;  but  the  morning  was  extremely  frosty;  the  light 
vapor  of  the  preceding  evening  had  been  precipitated  by  the 
cold,  and  covered  all  the  trees  and  every  blade  of  grass  with 
its  fine  crystallizations.  The  rays  of  a  bright  morning  sun  had 
a  dazzling  effect  among  the  glittering  foliage.  A  robin,  perched 
upon  the  top  of  a  mountain-ash  that  hung  its  clusters  of  red 
berries  just  before  my  window,  was  basking  himself  in  the  sun 
shine,  and  piping  a  few  querulous  notes ;  and  a  peacock  was  dis 
playing  all  the  glories  of  his  train,  and  strutting  with  the  pride 
and  gravity  of  a  Spanish  grandee,  on  the  terrace  walk  below. 

4.  I  had  scarcely  dressed  myself,  when  a  servant  appeared 
to  invite  me  to  family  prayers.     He  showed  me  the  way  to  a 
small  chapel  in  the  old  wing  of  the  house,  where  I  found  the 
principal  part  of  the  family  already  assembled  in  a  kind  of 
gallery,  furnished  with  cushions,  hassocks,  and  large  prayer- 
books  ;  the  servants  were  seated  on  benches  below.     The  old 
gentleman  read  prayers  from  a  desk  in  front  of  the  gallery, 
and  Master  Simon  acted  as  clerk,  and  made  the  responses; 
and  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  acquitted  him 
self  with  great  gravity  and  decorum. 

5.  The  service  was  followed  by  a  Christmas  carol,  which 
Mr.  Bracebridge  himself  had  constructed  from  a  poem  of  his 
favorite  author,  Herrick ;  and  it  had  been  adapted  to  an  old 
church-melody  by  Master  Simon.      As  there  were  several 
good  voices  among  the  household,  the  effect  was  extremely 
pleasing;   but  I  was  particularly  gratified  by  the  exaltation 
of  heart,  and  sudden  sally  of  grateful  feeling,  with  which  the 
worthy  Squire  delivered  one  stanza;   his  eye  glistening,  and 
his  voice  rambling  out  of  all  the  bounds  of  time  and  tune : 

"  'Tis  thou  that  crown 'st  my  glittering  hearth 

With  guiltless  mirth, 
And  givest  me  Wassaile  bowles  to  drink 
Spiced  to  the  brink ; 


64  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

Lord,  'tis  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soiles  my  land  ; 
And  giv'st  me  for  my  bush  ell  sowne, 

Twice  ten  for  one." 

6.  I  afterwards  understood  that  early  morning  service 
was  read  on  every  Sunday  and  saint's  day  throughout  the 
year,  either  by  Mr.  Bracebridge  or  by  some  member  of  the 
family.     It  was  once  almost  universally  the  case  at  the  seats 
of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  England,  and  it  is  much  to  be 
regretted  that  the  custom  is  falling  into  neglect ;  for  the  dullest 
observer  must  be  sensible  of  the  order  and  serenity  prevalent 
in  those  households,  where  the  occasional  exercise  of  a  beauti 
ful  form  of  worship  in  the  morning  gives,  as  it  were,  the  key 
note  to  every  temper  for  the  day,  and  attunes  every  spirit  to 
harmony. 

7.  Our  breakfast  consisted  of  what  the  Squire  denominated 
true  old  English  fare.     He  indulged  in  some  bitter  lamenta 
tions  over  modern  breakfasts  of  tea  and  toast,  which  he  cen 
sured  as  among  the  causes  of  modern  effeminacy  and  weak 
nerves,  and  the  decline  of  old  English  heartiness ;  and  though 
he  admitted  them  to  his  table  to  suit  the  palates  of  his  guests, 
yet  there  was  a  brave  display  of  cold  meats,  wine,  and  ale, 
on  the  sideboard. 

8.  After  breakfast  I  walked  about  the  grounds  with  Frank 
Bracebridge  and  Master  Simon,  or,  Mr.  Simon,  as  he  was 
called  by  everybody  but  the  Squire.     We  were  escorted  by  a 
number  of  gentlemanlike  dogs,  that  seemed  loungers  about 
the  establishment,  from  the  frisking  spaniel  to  the  steady 
old  stag-hound,  —  the  last  of  which  was  of  a  race  that  had 
been  in  the  family  time  out  of  mind ;  they  were  all  obedient 
to  a  dog-whistle  which  hung  to  Master  Simon's  button-hole, 
and  in  the  midst  of  their  gambols  would  glance  an  eye  occa 
sionally  upon  a  small  switch  he  carried  in  his  hand. 

9.  The  old  mansion  had  a  still  more  venerable  look  in  the 
yellow  sunshine  than  by  pale  moonlight ;  and  I  could  not  but 
feel  the  force  of  the  Squire's  idea,  that  the  formal  terraces, 
heavily  moulded  balustrades,  and  clipped  yew-trees  carried 
with  them  an  air  of  proud  aristocracy.     There  appeared  to 
be  an  unusual  number  of  peacocks  about  the  place,  and  I 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  65 

was  making  some  remarks  upon  what  I  termed  a  flock  of 
them,  that  were  basking  under  a  sunny  wall,  when  I  was 
gently  corrected  in  my  phraseology  by  Master  Simon,  who 
told  me  that,  according  to  the  most  ancient  and  approved 
treatise  on  hunting,  I  must  say  a  muster  of  peacocks.  "  In 
the  same  way,"  added  he,  with  a  slight  air  of  pedantry,  "we 
say  a  flight  of  doves  or  swallows,  a  bevy  of  quails,  a  herd  of 
deer,  of  wrens,  or  cranes,  a  skulk  of  foxes,  or  a  building  of 
rooks."  He  went  on  to  inform  me  that,  according  to  Sir 
Anthony  Fitzherbert,  we  ought  to  ascribe  to  this  bird  "both 
understanding  and  glory ;  for,  being  praised,  he  will  presently 
set  up  his  tail,  chiefly  against  the  sun,  to  the  intent  you  may 
the  better  behold  the  beauty  thereof.  But  at  the  fall  of  the 
leaf,  when  his  tail  falleth,  he  will  mourn  and  hide  himself  in 
corners,  till  his  tail  come  again  as  it  was." 

10.  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  display  of  small  erudi 
tion  on  so  whimsical  a  subject ;  but  I  found  that  the  peacocks 
were  birds  of  some  consequence  at  the  hall ;  for  Frank  Brace- 
bridge  informed  me  that  they  were  great  favorites  with  his 
father,  who  was  extremely  careful  to  keep  up  the  breed ;  partly 
because  they  belonged  to  chivalry,  and  were  in  great  request 
at  the  stately  banquets  of  the  olden  time,  and  partly  because 
they  had  a  pomp  and  magnificence  about  them,  highly  be 
coming  an  old  family  mansion.     Nothing,   he  was  accus 
tomed  to  say,  had  an  air  of  greater  state  and  dignity  than  a 
peacock  perched  upon  an  antique  stone  balustrade. 

11.  Master  Simon  had  now  to  hurry  off,  having  an  appoint 
ment  at  the  parish  church  with  the  village  choristers,  who  were 
to  perform  some  music  of  his  selectioni    There  was  some 
thing  extremely  agreeable  in  the  cheerful  flow  of  animal 
spirits  of  the  little  man ;  and  I  confess  I  had  been  somewhat 
surprised  at  his  apt  quotations  from  authors  who  certainly 
were  not  in  the  range  of  every-day  reading.     I  mentioned  this 
last  circumstance  to  Frank  Bracebridge,  who  told  me  with  a 
smile  that  Master  Simon's  whole  stock  of  erudition  was  con 
fined  to  some  half  a  dozen  old  authors,  which  the  Squire  had 
put  into  his  hands,  and  which  he  read  over  and  over,  whenever 
he  had  a  studious  fit;   as  he  sometimes  had  on  a  rainy  day, 


66  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

or  a  long  winter  evening.  Sir  Anthony  Fitzherbert's  Book 
of  Husbandry;  Markham's  Country  Contentments;  the 
Tretyse  of  Hunting,  by  Sir  Thomas  Cockayne,  Knight; 
Izaac  Walton's  Angler,  and  two  or  three  more  such  ancient 
worthies  of  the  pen,  were  his  standard  authorities;  and, 
like  all  men  who  know  but  a  few  books,  he  looked  up  to  them 
with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  and  quoted  them  on  all  occasions. 
As  to  his  songs,  they  were  chiefly  picked  out  of  old  books  in 
the  Squire's  library,  and  adapted  to  tunes  that  were  popular 
among  the  choice  spirits  of  the  last  century.  His  practical 
application  of  scraps  of  literature,  however,  had  caused  him 
to  be  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy  of  book-knowledge  by  all 
the  grooms,  huntsmen,  and  small  sportsmen  of  the  neighbor 
hood. 

12.  While  we  were  talking  we  heard  the  distant  tolling  of 
the  village-bell,  and  I  was  told  that  the  Squire  was  a  little 
particular  in  having  his  household  at  church  on  a  Christmas 
morning,  considering  it  a  day  of  pouring  out  of  thanks  and 
rejoicing ;  for,  as  old  Tusser  observed, 

"At  Christmas  be  merry,  and  thankful  withal, 
And  feast  thy  poor  neighbors,  the  great  with  the  small." 

13.  "If  you  are  disposed  to  go  to  church,"  said  Frank 
Bracebridge,  "I  can  promise  you  a  specimen  of  my  cousin 
Simon's  musical  achievements.     As  the  church  is  destitute 
of  an  organ,  he  has  formed  a  band  from  the  village  amateurs, 
and  established  a  musical  club  for  their  improvement ;  he  has 
also  sorted  a  choir,  as  he  sorted  my  father's  pack  of  hounds, 
according  to   the   directions   of   Jervaise   Markham,   in   his 
Country  Contentments ;  for  the  bass  he  has  sought  out  all  the 
'deep,  solemn  mouths,'  and  for  the  tenor  the  'loud-ringing 
mouths,'   among   the    country   bumpkins;    and   for   'sweet 
mouths,'  he  has  culled  with  curious  taste  among  the  prettiest 
lasses  in  the  neighborhood;    though  these  last,  he  affirms, 
are  the  most  difficult  to  keep  in  tune;   your  pretty  female 
singer  being  exceedingly  wayward  and  capricious,  and  very 
liable  to  accident." 

14.  As  the  morning,  though  frosty,  was  remarkably  fine 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  67 

and  clear,  the  most  of  the  family  walked  to  the  church, 
which  was  a  very  old  building  of  gray  stone,  and  stood  near 
a  village,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  park-gate.  Adjoining 
it  was  a  low  snug  parsonage,  which  seemed  coeval  with  the 
church.  The  front  of  it  was  perfectly  matted  with  a  yew- 
tree,  that  had  been  trained  against  its  walls,  through  the  dense 
foliage  of  which,  apertures  had  been  formed  to  admit  light 
into  the  small  antique  lattices.  As  we  passed  this  sheltered 
nest,  the  parson  issued  forth  and  preceded  us. 

15.  I  had  expected  to  see  a  sleek,  well-conditioned  pastor, 
such  as  is  often  found  in  a  snug  living  in  the  vicinity  of  a  rich 
patron's  table ;   but  I  was  disappointed.     The  parson  was  a 
little,  meagre,  black-looking  man,  with  a  grizzled  wig  that  was 
too  wide,  and  stood  off  from  each  ear ;  so  that  his  head  seemed 
to  have  shrunk  away  within  it,  like  a  dried  filbert  in  its  shell. 
He  wore  a  rusty  coat,  with  great  skirts,  and  pockets  that  would 
have  held  the  church  Bible  and  prayer-book :   and  his  small 
legs  seemed  still  smaller,  from  being  planted  in  large  shoes, 
decorated  with  enormous  buckles. 

16.  I  was  informed  by  Frank  Bracebridge,  that  the  parson 
had  been  a  chum  of  his  father's  at  Oxford,  and  had  received 
this  living  shortly  after  the  latter  had  come  to  his  estate. 
He  was  a  complete  black-letter  hunter,  and  would  scarcely 
read  a  work  printed  in  the  Roman  character.     The  editions 
of  Caxton  and  Wynkin  de  Worde  were  his  delight;   and  he 
was  indefatigable  in  his  researches  after  such  old  English 
writers  as  have  fallen  into  oblivion  from  their  worthlessness. 
In  deference,  perhaps,  to  the  notions  of  Mr.  Bracebridge,  he 
had  made  diligent  investigations  into  the  festive  rites  and 
holiday  customs  of  former  times;    and  had  been  as  zealous 
in  the  inquiry  as  if  he  had  been  a  boon  companion;   but  it 
was  merely  with  that  plodding  spirit  with  which  men  of  adust 
temperament  follow  up  any  track  of  study,  merely  because  it 
is  denominated  learning;    indifferent  to  its  intrinsic  nature, 
whether  it  be  the  illustration  of  the  wisdom,  or  of  the  ribaldry 
and  obscenity  of  antiquity.     He  had  pored  over  these  old 
volumes  so  intensely,  that  they  seemed  to  have  been  reflected 
in  his  countenance :  which,  if  the  face  be  indeed  an  index 


68  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  the  mind,  might  be  compared  to  a  title-page  of  black- 
letter. 

17.  On  reaching  the  church-porch,  we  found  the  parson 
rebuking  the  gray-headed  sexton  for  having  used  mistletoe 
among  the  greens  with  which  the  church  was  decorated.     It 
was,  he  observed,  an  unholy  plant,  profaned  by  having  been 
used  by  the  Druids  in  their  mystic  ceremonies;   and  though 
it  might  be  innocently  employed  in  the  festive  ornamenting 
of  halls  and  kitchens,  yet  it  had  been  deemed  by  the  Fathers 
of  the  Church  as  unhallowed,  and  totally  unfit  for  sacred 
purposes.     So  tenacious  was  he  on  this  point,  that  the  poor 
sexton  was  obliged  to  strip  down  a  great  part  of  the  humble 
trophies  of  his  taste,  before  the  parson  would  consent  to  enter 
upon  the  service  of  the  day. 

18.  The  interior  of  the  church  was  venerable  but  simple; 
on  the  walls  were  several  mural  monuments  of  the  Brace- 
bridges,  and  just  beside  the  altar  was  a  tomb  of  ancient  work 
manship,  on  which  lay  the  effigy  of  a  warrior  in  armor,  with 
his  legs  crossed,  a  sign  of  his  having  been  a  Crusader.     I  was 
told  it  was  one  of  the  family  who  had  signalized  himself  in 
the  Holy  Land,  and  the  same  whose  picture  hung  over  the 
fireplace  in  the  hall. 

19.  During  service,  Master  Simon  stood  up  in  the  pew, 
and  repeated  the  responses  very  audibly ;  evincing  that  kind 
of  ceremonious  devotion  punctually  observed  by  a  gentleman 
of  the  old  school,  and  a  man  of  old  family  connections.    I 
observed,  too,  that  he  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  folio  prayer- 
book  with  something  of  a  flourish ;   possibly  to  show  off  an 
enormous  seal-ring  which  enriched  one  of  his  fingers,  and 
which  had  the  look  of  a  family  relic.     But  he  was  evidently 
most  solicitous  about  the  musical  part  of  the  service,  keeping 
his  eye  fixed  intently  on  the  choir,  and  beating  time  with 
much  gesticulation  and  emphasis. 

20.  The  orchestra  was  in  a  small  gallery,  and  presented  a 
most  whimsical  grouping  of  heads,  piled  one  above  the  other, 
among  which  I  particularly  noticed  that  of  the  village  tailor, 
a  pale  fellow  with  a  retreating  forehead  and  chin,  who  played 
on  the  clarionet,  and  seemed  to  have  blown  his  face  to  a  point ; 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  69 

and  there  was  another,  a  short  pursy  man,  stooping  and  labor 
ing  at  a  bass-viol,  so  as  to  show  nothing  but  the  top  of  a 
round  bald  head,  like  the  egg  of  an  ostrich.  There  were  two 
or  three  pretty  faces  among  the  female  singers,  to  which  the 
keen  air  of  a  frosty  morning  had  given  a  bright  rosy  tint ;  but 
the  gentlemen  choristers  had  evidently  been  chosen,  like  old 
Cremona  fiddles,  more  for  tone  than  looks;  and  as  several 
had  to  sing  from  the  same  book,  there  were  clusterings  of  odd 
physiognomies,  not  unlike  those  groups  of  cherubs  we  some 
times  see  on  country  tombstones. 

21.  The  usual  services  of  the  choir  were  managed  tolerably 
well,  the  vocal  parts  generally  lagging  a  little  behind  the  in 
strumental,  and  some  loitering  fiddler  now  and  then  making 
up  for  lost  time  by  travelling  over  a  passage  with  prodigious 
celerity,  and  clearing  more  bars  than  the  keenest  fox-hunter 
to  be  in  at  the  death.     But  the  great  trial  was  an  anthem  that 
had  been  prepared  and  arranged  by  Master  Simon,  and  on 
which  he  had  founded  great  expectation.     Unluckily  there 
was  a  blunder  at  the  very  outset;    the  musicians  became 
flurried ;   Master  Simon  was  in  a  fever ;  everything  went  on 
lamely  and  irregularly  until  they  came  to  a  chorus  beginning, 
"Now  let  us  sing  with  one  accord,"  which  seemed  to  be  a 
signal  for  parting  company :  all  became  discord  and  confusion ; 
each  shifted  for  himself,  and  got  to  the  end  as  well,  or,  rather, 
as  soon  as  he  could,  excepting  one  old  chorister  in  a  pair  of 
horn  spectacles,  bestriding  and  pinching  a  long  sonorous  nose ; 
who  happened  to  stand  a  little  apart,  and,  being  wrapped  up 
in  his  own  melody,  kept  on  a  quavering  course,  wriggling  his 
head,  ogling  his  book,  and  winding  all  up  by  a  nasal  solo  of  at 
least  three  bars'  duration. 

22.  The  parson  gave  us  a  most  erudite  sermon  on  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  of  Christmas,  and  the  propriety  of  observing 
it  not  merely  as  a  day  of  thanksgiving,  but  of  rejoicing ;  sup 
porting  the  correctness  of  his  opinions  by  the  earliest  usages 
of  the  church,   and  enforcing  them  by  the  authorities  of 
Theophilus   of   Cesarea,    St.   Cyprian,    St.    Chrysostom,    St. 
Augustine,  and  a  cloud  more  of  saints  and  fathers,  from  whom 
he  made  copious  quotations.     I  was  a  little  at  a  loss  to  per- 


70  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

ceive  the  necessity  of  such  a  mighty  array  of  forces  to  main 
tain  a  point  which  no  one  present  seemed  inclined  to  dispute ; 
but  I  soon  found  that  the  good  man  had  a  legion  of  ideal 
adversaries  to  contend  with ;  having,  in  the  course  of  his  re 
searches  on  the  subject  of  Christmas,  got  completely  embroiled 
in  the  sectarian  controversies  of  the  Revolution,  when  the 
Puritans  made  such  a  fierce  assault  upon  the  ceremonies  of 
the  church,  and  poor  old  Christmas  was  driven  out  of  the  land 
by  proclamation  of  Parliament.1  The  worthy  parson  lived 
but  with  times  past,  and  knew  but  little  of  the  present. 

23.  Shut  up  among  worm-eaten  tomes  in  the  retirement 
of  his  antiquated  little  study,  the  pages  of  old  times  were  to 
him  as  the  gazettes  of  the  day ;  while  the  era  of  the  Revolution 
was  mere  modern  history.     He  forgot  that  nearly  two  cen 
turies  had  elapsed  since  the  fiery  persecution  of  poor  mince- 
pie  throughout  the  land ;  when  plum-porridge  was  denounced 
as  "mere  popery,"  and  roast-beef  as  anti-Christian;  and  that 
Christmas  had  been  brought  in  again  triumphantly  with  the 
merry  court  of  King  Charles  at  the  Restoration.     Rekindled 
into  warmth  with  the  ardor  of  his  contest,  and  the  host  of 
imaginary  foes  with  whom  he  had  to  combat ;  he  had  a  stub 
born  conflict  with  old  Prynne  and  two  or  three  other  forgotten 
champions  of  the  Round  Heads  on  the  subject  of  Christmas 
festivity;   and  concluded  by  urging  his  hearers,  in  the  most 
solemn  and  affecting  manner,  to  stand  to  the  traditional 
customs  of  their  fathers,  and  feast  and  make  merry  on  this 
joyful  anniversary  of  the  Church. 

24.  I  have  seldom  known  a  sermon  attended  apparently 

1  From  the  "  Flying  Eagle, "a  small  Gazette,  published  December 
24th,  1652  :  —  "The  House  spent  much  time  this  day  about  the  busi 
ness  of  the  Navy,  for  settling  the  affairs  at  sea,  and  before  they  rose, 
were  presented  with  a  terrible  remonstrance  against  Christmas  day, 
grounded  upon  divine  Scriptures,  2  Cor.  v.  16  ;  1  Cor.  xv.  14,  17  ;  and 
in  honor  of  the  Lord's  Day,  grounded  upon  these  Scriptures,  John  xx. 
1;  Rev.  i.  10;  Psalm  cxviii.  24;  Lev.  xxiii.  7,  11;  Mark  xv.  8; 
Psalm  Ixxxiv.  10,  in  which  Christmas  is  called  Anti-christ's  masse, 
and  those  Masse-mongers  and  Papists  who  observe  it,  etc.  In  con 
sequence  of  which  Parliament  spent  some  time  in  consultation  about 
the  abolition  of  Christmas  day,  passed  orders  to  that  effect,  and  re 
solved  to  sit  on  the  following  day  which  was  commonly  called  Christ 
mas  day." 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  71 

with  more  immediate  effects;  for  on  leaving  the  church  the 
congregation  seemed  one  and  all  possessed  with  the  gayety 
of  spirit  so  earnestly  enjoined  by  their  pastor.  The  elder 
folks  gathered  in  knots  in  the  churchyard,  greeting  and  shak 
ing  hands ;  and  the  children  ran  about  crying  Ule !  Ule ! 
and  repeating  some  uncouth  rhymes,1  which  the  parson,  who 
had  joined  us,  informed  me  had  been  handed  down  from  days 
of  yore.  The  villagers  doffed  their  hats  to  the  Squire  as  he 
passed,  giving  him  the  good  wishes  of  the  season  with  every 
appearance  of  heartfelt  sincerity,  and  were  invited  by  him 
to  the  hall,  to  take  'something  to  keep  out  the  cold  of  the 
weather;  and  I  heard  blessings  uttered  by  several  of  the 
poor,  which  convinced  me  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  enjoy 
ments,  the  worthy  old  cavalier  had  not  forgotten  the  true 
Christmas  virtue  of  charity. 

25.  On  our  way  homeward  his  heart  seemed  overflowed 
with  generous  and  happy  feelings.  As  we  passed  over  a 
rising  ground  which  commanded  something  of  a  prospect, 
the  sounds  of  rustic  merriment  now  and  then  reached  our 
ears :  the  Squire  paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  looked  around 
with  an  air  of  inexpressible  benignity.  The  beauty  of  the 
day  was  of  itself  sufficient  to  inspire  philanthropy.  Not 
withstanding  the  frostiness  of  the  morning,  the  sun  in  his 
cloudless  journey  had  acquired  sufficient  power  to  melt  away 
the  thin  covering  of  snow  from  every  southern  declivity,  and 
to  bring  out  the  living  green  which  adorns  an  English  land 
scape  even  in  midwinter.  Large  tracts  of  smiling  verdure 
contrasted  with  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  shaded  slopes 
and  hollows.  Every  sheltered  bank,  on  which  the  broad 
rays  rested,  yielded  its  silver  rill  of  cold  and  limpid  water, 
glittering  through  the  dripping  grass;  and  sent  up  slight 
exhalations  to  contribute  to  the  thin  haze  that  hung  just 
above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  There  was  something  truly 
cheering  in  this  triumph  of  warmth  and  verdure  over  the  frosty 
thraldom  of  winter ;  it  was,  as  the  Squire  observed,  an  emblem 

'"Ule!  Ule! 

Three  puddings  in  a  pule, 
Crack  nuts  and  cry  ule  !  " 


72  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  Christmas  hospitality,  breaking  through  the  chills  of  cere 
mony  and  selfishness,  and  thawing  every  heart  into  a  flow. 
He  pointed  with  pleasure  to  the  indications  of  good  cheer 
reeking  from  the  chimneys  of  the  comfortable  farm-houses 
and  low  thatched  cottages.  "I  love,"  said  he,  "to  see  this 
day  well  kept  by  rich  and  poor;  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
one  day  in  the  year,  at  least,  when  you  are  sure  of  being  wel 
come  wherever  you  go,  and  of  having,  as  it  were,  the  world  all 
thrown  open  to  you;  and  I  am  almost  disposed  to  join  with 
Poor  Robin,  in  his  malediction  on  every  churlish  enemy  to 
this  honest  festival,  — 

"  Those  who  at  Christmas  do  repine 

And  would  fain  hence  dispatch  him, 
May  they  with  old  Duke  Humphry  dine, 
Or  else  may  Squire  Ketch  catch  'em." 

26.  The  Squire  went  on  to  lament  the  deplorable  decay  of 
the  games  and  amusements  which  were  once  prevalent  at 
this  season  among  the  lower  orders,  and  countenanced  by  the 
higher;  when  the  old  halls  of  the  castles  and  manor-houses 
were  thrown  open  at  daylight ;  when  the  tables  were  covered 
with  brawn,  and  beef,  and  humming  ale ;  when  the  harp  and 
the  carol  resounded  all  day  long,  and  when  rich  and  poor  were 
alike  welcome  to  enter  and  make  merry.1  "Our  old  games 
and  local  customs,"  said  he,  "had  a  great  effect  in  making 
the  peasant  fond  of  his  home,  and  the  promotion  of  them  by 
the  gentry  made  him  fond  of  his  lord.  They  made  the  times 
merrier,  and  kinder,  and  better,  and  I  can  truly  say,  with  one 
of  our  old  poets,  — 

"  '  I  like  them  well  — the  curious  preciseness 
And  all-pretended  gravity  of  those 
That  seek  to  banish  hence  these  harmless  sports 
Have  thrust  away  much  ancient  honesty." 

1  "An  English  gentleman,  at  the  opening  of  the  great  day,  i.e.  on 
Christmas  day  in  the  morning,  had  all  his  tenants  and  neighbors  enter 
his  hall  by  daybreak.  The  strong  bear  was  broached,  and  the  black 
jacks  went  plentifully  about  with  toast,  sugar  and  nutmeg,  and 
good  Cheshire  cheese.  The  Hackin  (the  great  sausage)  must  be 
boiled  by  day-break,  or  else  two  young  men  must  take  the  maiden  (i.e. 
the  cook)  by  the  arms,  and  run  her  round  the  market-place  till  she 
is  shamed  of  her  laziness."  —  Round  about  our  Sea-Coal  Fire. 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  73 

27.  " The  nation,"  continued  he, "  is  altered ;  we  have  almost 
lost  our  simple  true-hearted  peasantry.     They  have  broken 
asunder    from  the  higher  classes,  and  seem  to  think  their 
interests  are  separate.     They  have  become  too  knowing,  and 
begin  to  read  newspapers,  listen  to  ale-house  politicians,  and 
talk  of  reform.     I  think  one  mode  to  keep  them  in  good- 
humor  in  these  hard  times  would  be  for  the  nobility  and 
gentry  to  pass  more  time  on  their  estates,  mingle  more  among 
the  country  people,  and  set  the  merry  old  English  games 
going  again." 

28.  Such  was  the  good   Squire's  project  for  mitigating 
public  discontent :   and,  indeed,  he  had  once  attempted  to 
put  his  doctrine  in  practice,  and  a  few  years  before  had  kept 
open  house  during  the  holidays  in  the  old  style.    The  country 
people,  however,  did  not  understand  how  to  play  their  parts 
in  the  scene  of  hospitality ;  many  uncouth  circumstances  oc 
curred;   the  manor  was  overrun  by  all  the  vagrants  of  the 
country,  and  more  beggars  drawn  into  the  neighborhood  in 
one  week  than  the  parish  officers  could  get  rid  of  in  a  year. 
Since  then,  he  had  contented  himself  with  inviting  the  decent 
part  of  the  neighboring  peasantry  to  call  at  the  hall  on  Christ 
mas  day,  and  with  distributing  beef,  and  bread,  and  ale, 
among  the  poor,  that  they  might  make  merry  in  their  own 
dwellings. 

29.  We  had  not  been  long  home  when  the  sound  of  music 
was  heard  from  a  distance.     A  band  of  country  lads,  without 
coats,  their  shirt-sleeves  fancifully  tied  with  ribbons,  their 
hats  decorated  with  greens,  and  clubs  in  their  hands,  was  seen 
advancing  up  the  avenue,  followed  by  a  large  number  of  vil 
lagers  and  peasantry.     They  stopped  before  the  hall-door, 
where  the  music  struck  up  a  peculiar  air,  and  the  lads  per 
formed  a  curious  and  intricate  dance,  advancing,  retreating, 
and  striking  their  clubs  together,  keeping  exact  time  to  the 
music ;  while  one,  whimsically  crowned  with  a  fox's  skin,  the 
tail  of  which  flaunted  down  his  back,  kept  capering  round  the 
skirts  of  the  dance,  and  rattling  a  Christmas  box  with  many 
antic  gesticulations. 

30.  The  Squire  eyed  this  fanciful  exhibition  with  great 


74  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

interest  and  delight,  and  gave  me  a  full  account  of  its  origin, 
which  he  traced  to  the  times  when  the  Romans  held  posses 
sion  of  the  island ;  plainly  proving  that  this  was  a  lineal  de 
scendant  of  the  sword-dance  of  the  ancients.  "It  was  now," 
he  said,  "  nearly  extinct,  but  he  had  accidentally  met  with 
traces  of  it  in  the  neighborhood,  and  had  encouraged  its  revi 
val  ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  too  apt  to  be  followed  up 
by  the  rough  cudgel  play,  and  broken  heads  in  the  evening." 

31.  After  the  dance  was  concluded,  the  whole  party  was 
entertained  with  brawn  and  beef,  and  stout  home-brewed. 
•The  Squire  himself  mingled  among  the  rustics,  and  was  re 
ceived  with  awkward  demonstrations  of  deference  and  regard. 
It  is  true  I  perceived  two  or  three  of  the  younger  peasants,  as 
they  were  raising  their  tankards  to  their  mouths,  when  the 
Squire's  back  was  turned,  making  something  of  a  grimace,  and 
giving  each  other  the  wink ;  but  the  moment  they  caught  my 
eye  they  pulled  grave  faces,  and  were  exceedingly  demure. 
With  Master  Simon,  however,  they  all  seemed  more  at  their 
ease.     His  varied  occupations  and  amusements  had  made 
him  well  known  throughout  the  neighborhood.     He  was  a 
visitor  at  every  farm-house  and  cottage;   gossiped  with  the 
farmers  and  their  wives ;  romped  with  their  daughters ;  and, 
like  that  type  of  a  vagrant  bachelor,  the  humblebee,  tolled 
the  sweets  from  all  the  rosy  lips  of  the  country  round. 

32.  The  bashfulness  of  the  guests  soon  gave  way  before 
good  cheer  and  affability.     There  is  something  genuine  and 
affectionate  in  the  gayety  of  the  lower  orders,  when  it  is  ex 
cited  by  the  bounty  and  familiarity  of  those  above  them ;  the 
warm  glow  of  gratitude  enters  into  their  mirth,  and  a  kind 
word  or  a  small  pleasantry  frankly  uttered  by  a  patron, 
gladdens  the  heart  of  the  dependent  more  than  oil  and  wine. 
When  the  Squire  had  retired,  the  merriment  increased,  and 
there  was  much  joking  and  laughter,  particularly  between 
Master  Simon  and  a  hale,  ruddy-faced,  white-headed  farmer, 
who  appeared  to  be  the  wit  of  the  village ;  for  I  observed  all 
his  companions  to  wait  with  open  mouths  for  his  retorts,  and 
burst  into  a  gratuitous  laugh  before  they  could  well  under 
stand  them. 


CHRISTMAS   DAY  75 

33.  The  whole  house  indeed  seemed  abandoned  to  merri 
ment  :  as  I  passed  to  my  room  to  dress  for  dinner,  I  heard 
the  sound  of  music  in  a  small  court,  and,  looking  through  a 
window  that  commanded  it,  I  perceived  a  band  of  wandering 
musicians,  with  pandean  pipes  and  tambourine;  a  pretty 
coquettish  housemaid  was  dancing  a  jig  with  a  smart  country 
lad,  while  several  of  the  other  servants  were  looking  on.  In 
the  midst  of  her  sport  trie  girl  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  face  at 
the  window,  and,  coloring  up,  ran  off  with  an  air  of  roguish 
affected  confusion. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  DINNER 

Lo,  now  is  come  our  joyful 'st  feast ! 

Let  every  man  be  jolly, 
Eache  roome  with  yvie  leaves  is  drest, 

And  every  post  with  holly. 
Now  all  our  neighbours'  chimneys  smoke, 

And  Christmas  blocks  are  burning  ; 
Their  ovens  they  with  bak't*  meats  choke, 
And  all  their  spits  are  turning. 
Without  the  door  let  sorrow  lie, 
And  if,  for  cold,  it  hap  to  die, 
Wee  'le  bury  't  in  a  Christmas  pye, 
And  evermore  be  merry. 

— WITHERS 's  JUVENILIA. 

1.  I  had  finished  my  toilet,  and  was  loitering  with  Frank 
Bracebridge  in  the  library,  when  we  heard  a  distant  thwacking 
sound,  which  he  informed  me  was  a  signal  for  the  serving  up 
of  the  dinner.     The  Squire  kept  up  old  customs  in  kitchen  as 
well  as  hall ;  and  the  rolling-pin,  struck  upon  the  dresser  by 
the  cook,  summoned  the  servants  to  carry  in  the  meats. 

"Just  in  this  nick  the  cook  knock'd  thrice, 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 

His  summons  did  obey  ; 
Each  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
March 'd  boldly  up,  like  our  train  band, 

Presented  and  away."  1 

2.  The  dinner  was  served  up  in  the  great  hall  where  the 
Squire  always  held  his  Christmas  banquet.     A  blazing,  crack 
ling  fire  of  logs  had  been  heaped  on  to  warm  the  spacious 
apartment,  and  the  flame  went  sparkling  and  wreathing  up 
the  wide-mouthed  chimney.     The  great  picture  of  the  cru 
sader  and  his  white  horse  had  been  profusely  decorated  with 
greens  for  the  occasion ;  and  holly  and  ivy  had  likewise  been 
wreathed  round  the  helmet  and  weapons  on  the  opposite  wall, 
which  I  understood  were  the  arms  of  the  same  warrior.     I 
must  own,  by  the  by,  I  had  strong  doubts  about  the  authen 
ticity  of  the  painting  and  armor  as  having  belonged  to  the 
crusader,  they  certainly  having  the  stamp  of  more  recent  days ; 
but  I  was  told  that  the  painting  had  been  so  considered  time 
out  of  mind ;  and  that,  as  to  the  armor,  it  had  been  found  in  a 

1  Sir  John  Suckling. 
76 


THE   CHRISTMAS   DINNER  77 

lumber-room,  and  elevated  to  its  present  situation  by  the 
Squire,  who  at  once  determined  it  to  be  the  armor  of  the  family 
hero ;  and  as  he  was  absolute  authority  on  all  such  subjects  in 
his  own  household,  the  matter  had  passed  into  current  ac 
ceptation.  A  sideboard  was  set  out  just  under  this  chivalric 
trophy,  on  which  was  a  display  of  plate  that  might  have  vied 
(at  least  in  variety)  with  Belshazzar's  parade  of  the  vessels 
of  the  temple:  "flagons,  cans,  cups,  beakers,  goblets,  basins, 
and  ewers;"  the  gorgeous  utensils  of  good  companionship 
that  had  gradually  accumulated  through  many  generations 
of  jovial  housekeepers.  Before  these  stood  the  two  Yule 
candles,  beaming  like  two  stars  of  the  first  magnitude ;  other 
lights  were  distributed  in  branches,  and  the  whole  array 
glittered  like  a  firmament  of  silver. 

3.  We  were  ushered  into  this  banqueting  scene  with  the 
sound  of  minstrelsy,  the  old  harper  being  seated  on  a  stool 
beside  the  fireplace,  and  twanging  his  instrument  with  a  vast 
deal  more  power  than  melody.  Never  did  Christmas  board 
display  a  more  goodly  and  gracious  assemblage  of  counte 
nances  ;  those  who  were  not  handsome  were,  at  least,  happy ; 
and  happiness  is  a  rare  improver  of  your  hard-favored  visage. 
I  always  consider  an  old  English  family  as  well  worth  studying 
as  a  collection  of  Holbein's  portraits  or  Albert  Diirer's  prints. 
There  is  much  antiquarian  lore  to  be  acquired ;  much  knowl 
edge  of  the  physiognomies  of  former  times.  Perhaps  it  may 
be  from  having  continually  before  their  eyes  those  rows  of  old 
family  portraits,  with  which  the  mansions  of  this  country  are 
stocked;  certain  it  is,  that  the  quaint  features  of  antiquity 
are  often  most  faithfully  perpetuated  in  these  ancient  lines; 
and  I  have  traced  ah  old  family  nose  through  a  whole  picture 
gallery,  legitimately  handed  down  from  generation  to  gener 
ation,  almost  from  the  time  of  the  Conquest.  Something  of 
the  kind  was  to  be  observed  in  the  worthy  company  around 
me.  Many  of  their  faces  had  evidently  originated  in  a  Gothic 
age,  and  been  merely  copied  by  succeeding  generations ;  and 
there  was  one  little  girl  in  particular,  of  staid  demeanor,  with 
a  high  Roman  nose,  and  an  antique  vinegar  aspect,  who  was 
a  great  favorite  of  the  Squire's,  being,  as  he  said,  a  Brace- 


78  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

bridge  all  over,  and  the  very  counterpart  of  one  of  his  ances 
tors  who  figured  in  the  court  of  Henry  VIII. 

4.  The  parson  said  grace,  which  was  not  a  short  familiar 
one,  such  as  is  commonly  addressed  to  the  Deity  in  these  un 
ceremonious  days;   but  a  long  courtly,  well- worded  one  of 
the  ancient  school.     There  was  now  a  pause,  as  if  something 
was  expected;    when  suddenly  the  butler  entered  the  hall 
with  some  degree  of  bustle :  he  was  attended  by  a  servant  on 
each  side  with  a  large  wax-light,  and  bore  a  silver  dish,  on 
which  was  an  enormous  pig's  head,  decorated  with  rosemary, 
with  a  lemon  in  its  mouth,  which  was  placed  with  great  for 
mality  at  the  head  of  the  table.     The  moment  this  pageant 
made  its  appearance,  the  harper  struck  up  a  flourish ;  at  the 
conclusion  of  which  the  young  Oxonian,  on  receiving  a  hint 
from  the  Squire,  gave,  with  an  air  of  the  most  comic  gravity, 
an  old  carol,  the  first  verse  of  which  was  as  follows :  — 

"Caput  apri  defero 

Reddens  laudes  Domino. 
The  boar's  head  in  hand  bring  I, 
With  garlands  gay  and  rosemary. 
I  pray  you  all  synge  merrily 

Qui  estis  in  convivio." 

5.  Though  prepared  to  witness  many  of  these  little  eccen 
tricities,  from  being  apprised  of  the  peculiar  hobby  of  mine 
host,  yet,  I  confess,  the  parade  with  which  so  odd  a  dish  was 
introduced  somewhat  perplexed  me,  until  I  gathered  from  the 
conversation  of  the  Squire  and  the  parson,  that  it  was  meant 
to  represent  the  bringing  in  of  the  boar's  head  :  a  dish  formerly 
served  up  with  much  ceremony  and  the  sound  of  minstrelsy 
and  song,  at  great  tables,  on  Christmas  day.     "I  like  the  old 
custom,"  said  the  Squire,  "not  merely  because  it  is  stately 
and  pleasing  in  itself,  but  because  it  was  observed  at  the 
college  at  Oxford  at  which  I  was  educated.     When  I  hear  the 
old  song  chanted,  it  brings  to  mind  the  time  when  I  was  young 
and  gamesome,  —  and  the  noble  old  college-hall,  —  and  my 
fellow-students  loitering  about  in  their  black  gowns ;  many  of 
whom,  poor  lads,  are  now  in  their  graves ! " 

6.  The  parson,  however,  whose  mind  was  not  haunted  by 
such  associations,  and  who  was  always  more  taken  up  with 


BRINGING  IN  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 


80  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

the  text  than  the  sentiment,  objected  to  the  Oxonian's  version 
of  the  carol ;  which  he  affirmed  was  different  from  that  sung 
at  college.  He  went  on,  with  the  dry  perseverance  of  a  com 
mentator,  to  give  the  college  reading,  accompanied  by  sundry 
annotations;  addressing  himself  at  first  to  the  company  at 
large ;  but  finding  their  attention  gradually  diverted  to  other 
talk  and  other  objects,  he  lowered  his  tone  as  his  number  of 
auditors  diminished,  until  he  concluded  his  remarks  in  an 
undervoice,  to  a  fat-headed  old  gentleman  next  him,  who  was 
silently  engaged  in  the  discussion  of  a  huge  plateful  of  turkey.1 
7.  The  table  was  literally  loaded  with  good  cheer  and  pre 
sented  an  epitome  of  country  abundance,  in  this  season  of 
overflowing  larders.  A  distinguished  post  was  allotted  to 
" ancient  sirloin,"  as  mine  host  termed  it ;  being,  as  he  added, 
"the  standard  of  old  English  hospitality,  and  a  joint  of  goodly 
presence,  and  full  of  expectation."  There  were  several  dishes 
quaintly  decorated,  and  which  had  evidently  something  tra 
ditional  in  their  embellishments;  but  about  which,  as  I  did 
not  like  to  appear  over-curious,  I  asked  no  questions. 

1  The  old  ceremony  of  serving  up  the  boar's  head  on  Christmas  day 
is  still  observed  in  the  hall  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford.  I  was  favored 
by  the  parson  with  a  copy  of  the  carol  as  now  sung,  and,  as  it  may 
be  acceptable  to  such  of  my  readers  as  are  curious  in  these  grave  and 
learned  matters,  I  give  it  entire. 

"The  boar's  head  in  hand  bear  I, 
Bedeck 'd  with  bays  and  rosemary ; 
And  I  pray  you,  my  masters,  be  merry 
Quot  estis  in  convivio. 
Caput  apri  defero, 
Reddens  laudes  domino. 

"The  boar's  head,  as  I  understand, 
Is  the  rarest  dish  in  all  this  land, 
Which  thus  bedeck 'd  with  a  gay  garland 
Let  us  servire  cantico. 
Caput  apri  defero,  etc. 

"Our  steward  hath  provided  this 
In  honor  of  the  King  of  Bliss, 
Which  on  this  day  to  be  served  is 
In  Reginensi  Atrio. 
Caput  apri  defero," 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   DINNER  81 

8.  I  could  not,  however,  but  notice  a  pie,  magnificently 
decorated  with  peacock's  feathers  in  imitation  of  the  tail  of 
that  bird,  which  overshadowed  a  considerable  tract,  of  the 
table.     This,  the  Squire  confessed,  with  some  little  hesitation, 
was  a  pheasant-pie,  though  a  peacock-pie  was  certainly  the 
most  authentical ;  but  there  had  been  such  a  mortality  among 
the  peacocks  this  season,  that  he  could  not  prevail  upon  him 
self  to  have  one  killed.1 

9.  It  would  be  tedious,  perhaps,  to  my  wiser  readers,  who 
may  not  have  that  foolish   fondness  for  odd  and  obsolete 
things  to  which  I  am  a  little  given,  were  I  to  mention  the  other 
makeshifts  of  this  worthy  old  humorist,  by  which  he  was  en 
deavoring  to  follow  up,  though  at  humble  distance,  the  quaint 
customs  of  antiquity.     I  was  pleased,  however,  to  see  the 
respect  shown  to  his  whims  by  his  children  and  relatives; 
who,  indeed,  entered  readily  into  the  full  spirit  of  them,  and 
seemed  all  well  versed  in  their  parts ;  having  doubtless  been 
present  at  many  a  rehearsal.     I  was  amused,  too,  at  the  air 
of  profound  gravity  with  which  the  butler  and  other  servants 
executed  the  duties  assigned  them,  however  eccentric.    They 
had  an  old-fashioned  look;   having,  for  the  most  part,  been 
brought  up  in  the  household,  and  grown  into  keeping  with 
the  antiquated  mansion,  and  the  humors  of  its  lord ;  and  most 
probably  looked  upon  all  his  whimsical  regulations  as  the 
established  laws  of  honorable  housekeeping. 

10.  When  the  cloth  was  removed,  the  butler  brought  in  a 

1  The  peacock  was  anciently  in  great  demand  for  stately  entertain 
ments.  Sometimes  it  was  made  into  a  pie,  at  one  end  of  which  the 
head  appeared  above  the  crust  in  all  its  plumage,  with  the  beak  richly 
gilt ;  at  the  other  end  the  tail  was  displayed.  Such  pies  were  served 
up  at  the  solemn  banquets  of  chivalry,  when  knights-errant  pledged 
themselves  to  undertake  any  perilous  enterprise,  whence  came  the 
ancient  oath,  used  by  Justice  Shallow,  "by  cock  and  pie." 

The  peacock  was  also  an  important  dish  for  the  Christmas  feast; 
and  Massinger,  in  his  "City  Madam,"  gives  some  idea  of  the  extrava 
gance  with  which  this,  as  well  as  other  dishes,  was  prepared  for  the 
gorgeous  revels  of  the  olden  times  : — 

"Men  may  talk  of  Country  Christmasses, 

"Their  thirty  pound  butter'd  eggs,  their  pies  of  carps'  tongues; 
"Their  pheasants  drench 'd  with  ambergris  ;  the  carcases  of  three  fat 
wethers  bruised  for  gravy  to  make  saucf  for  a  single  peacock." 


82  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

huge  silver  vessel  of  rare  and  curious  workmanship,  which 
he  placed  before  the  Squire.  Its  appearance  was  hailed  with 
acclamation ;  being  the  Wassail  Bowl,  so  renowned  in  Christ 
mas  festivity.  The  contents  had  been  prepared  by  the  Squire 
himself ;  for  it  was  a  beverage  in  the  skilful  mixture  of  which  he 
particularly  prided  himself ;  alleging  that  it  was  too  abstruse 
and  complex  for  the  comprehension  of  an  ordinary  servant. 
It  was  a  potation,  indeed,  that  might  well  make  the  heart  of 
a  toper  leap  within  him ;  being  composed  of  the  richest  and 
raciest  wines,  highly  spiced  and  sweetened,  with  roasted  apples 
bobbing  about  the  surface.1 

11.  The  old  gentleman's  whole  countenance  beamed  with 
a  serene  look  of  indwelling  delight,  as  he  stirred  this  mighty 
bowl.     Having  raised  it  to  his  lips,  with  a  hearty  wish  of  a 
merry  Christmas  to  all  present,  he  sent  it  brimming  round  the 
board,  for  every  one  to  follow  his  example,  according  to  the 
primitive  style ;  pronouncing  it  "  the  ancient  fountain  of  good 
feeling,  where  all  hearts  met  together/' 2 

12.  There  was  much  laughing  and  rallying  as  the  honest 
emblem  of    Christmas  joviality  circulated,  and  was  kissed 
rather  coyly  by  the  ladies.     When  it  reached  Master  Simon, 
he  raised  it  in  both  hands,  and  with  the  air  of  a  boon  com 
panion  struck  up  an  old  Wassail  chanson. 

"  The  brown  bowle, 
The  merry  brown  bowle, 

1  The  Wassail  Bowl  was  sometimes  composed  of  ale  instead  of  wine  ; 
with  nutmeg,  sugar,  toast,  ginger,  and  roasted  crabs  :  in  this  way  the 
nut-brown  beverage  is  still  prepared  in  some  old  families  and  round 
the  hearths  of  substantial  farmers  at  Christmas.     It  is  also  called 
Lamb's  Wool,  and  is  celebrated  by  Herrick  in  his  "  Twelfth  Night  " :  — 

"Next  crowne  the  bowle  full 

With  gentle  Lamb's  Wool; 
Add  sugar,  nutmeg,  and  ginger 

With  store  of  ale  too ; 

And  thus  ye  must  doe 
To  make  the  Wassaile  a  swinger." 

2  "The  custom  of  drinking  out  of  the  same  cup  gave  place  to  each 
having  his  cup.     When  the  steward  came  to  the  dbore  with  the 
Wassel,  he  was  to  cry  three  times,  Wassel,  Wassel,  W asset,  and  then 
the  chappel  (chaplein)  was  to  answer  with  a  song."—  Archceologia. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   DINNER  83 

As  it  goes  round  about-a, 

Fill 

Still, 

Let  the  world  say  what  it  will 
And  drink  your  fill  all  out-a. 

The  deep  canne, 

The  merry  deep  canne, 

As  thou  dost  freely  quaff-a, 

Sing 

Fling, 

Be  as  merry  as  a  king, 
And  sound  a  lusty  laugh-a."  1 

13.  Much  of  the  conversation  during  dinner  turned  upon 
family  topics,  to  which  I  was  a  stranger.     There  was,  how 
ever,  a  great  deal  of  rallying  of  Master  Simon  about  some  gay 
widow,  with  whom  he  was  accused  of  having  a  flirtation. 
This  attack  was  commenced  by  the  ladies;   but  it  was  con 
tinued  throughout  the  dinner  by  the  fat-headed  old  gentle 
man  next  the  parson,  with  the  persevering  assiduity  of  a  slow 
hound;   being  one  of  those  long-winded  jokers,  who,  though 
rather  dull  at  starting  game,  are  unrivalled  for  their  talents 
in  hunting  it  down.     At  every  pause  in  the  general  conversa 
tion,  he  renewed  his  bantering  in  pretty  much  the  same  terms ; 
winking  hard  at  me  with  both  eyes,  whenever  he  gave  Master 
Simon  what  he  considered  a  home  thrust.     The  latter,  indeed, 
seemed  fond  of  being  teased  on  the  subject,  as  old  bachelors 
are  apt  to  be ;  and  he  took  occasion  to  inform  me,  in  an  under 
tone,  that  the  lady  in  question  was  a  prodigiously  fine  woman, 
and  drove  her  own  curricle. 

14.  The  dinner-time  passed  away  in  this  flow  of  innocent 
hilarity,  and,  though  the  old  hall  may  have  resounded  in  its 
time  with  many  a  scene  of  broader  rout  and  revel,  yet  I  doubt 
whether  it  ever  witnessed  more  honest  and  genuine  enjoy 
ment.     How  easy  it  is  for  one  benevolent  being  to  diffuse 
pleasure  around  him ;  and  how  truly  is  a  kind  heart  a  fountain 
of  gladness,  making  everything  in  its  vicinity  to  freshen  into 
smiles  !  the  joyous  disposition  of  the  worthy  Squire  was  per 
fectly  contagious;    he  was  happy  himself,  and  disposed  to 
make  all  the  world  happy ;  and  the  little  eccentricities  of  his 

1  From  Poor  Robin's  Almanac. 


84  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

humor  did  but  season,  in  a  manner,  the  sweetness  of  his 
philanthropy. 

15.  When  the  ladies  had  retired,  the  conversation,  as  usual, 
became  still  more  animated ;  many  good  things  were  broached 
which  had  been  thought  of  during  dinner,  but  which  would 
not  exactly  do  for  a  lady's  ear;   and  though  I  cannot  posi 
tively  affirm  that  there  was  much  wit  uttered,  yet  I  have  cer 
tainly  heard  many  contests  of  rare  wit  produce  much  less 
laughter.     Wit,  after  all,  is  a  mighty  tart,  pungent  ingredient, 
and  much  too  acid  for  some  stomachs;    but  honest  good- 
humor  is  the  oil  and  wine  of  a  merry  meeting,  and  there  is  no 
jovial  companionship  equal  to  that  where  the  jokes  are  rather 
small,  and  the  laughter  abundant. 

16.  The  Squire  told  several  long  stories  of  early  college 
pranks  and  adventures,  in  some  of  which  the  parson  had  been 
a  sharer;   though  in  looking  at  the  latter,  it  required  some 
effort  of  imagination  to  figure  such  a  little  dark  anatomy  of  a 
man  into  the  perpetrator  of  a  madcap  gambol.     Indeed,  the 
two  college  chums  presented  pictures  of  what  men  may  be 
made  by  their  different  lots  in  life.     The  Squire  had  left  the 
university  to  live  lustily  on  his  paternal  domains,  in  the  vigor 
ous  enjoyment  of  prosperity  and  sunshine,  and  had  flourished 
on  to  a  hearty  and  florid  old  age ;  whilst  the  poor  parson,  on 
the  contrary,  had  dried  and  withered  away,  among  dusty 
tomes,  in  the  silence  and  shadows  of  his  study.     Still  there 
seemed  to  be  a  spark  of  almost  extinguished  fire,  feebly  glim 
mering  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul ;  and  as  the  Squire  hinted  at 
a  sly  story  of  the  parson  and  a  pretty  milkmaid,  whom  they 
once  met  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis,  the  old  gentleman  made  an 
"alphabet  of  faces,"  which,  as  far  as  I  could  decipher  his 
physiognomy,  I  verily  believe  was  indicative  of  laughter ;  — 
indeed,  I  have  rarely  met  with  an  old  gentleman  that  took 
absolute  offence  at  the  imputed  gallantries  of  his  youth. 

17.  I  found  the  tide  of  wine  and  wassail  fast  gaining  on  the 
dry  land  of  sober  judgment.     The  company  grew  merrier  and 
louder  as  their  jokes  grew  duller.     Master  Simon  was  in  as 
chirping  a  humor  as  a  grasshopper  filled  with  dew;   his  old 
songs  grew  of  a  warmer  complexion,  and  he  began  to  talk 


THE   CHRISTMAS   DINNER  85 

maudlin  about  the  widow.  He  even  gave  a  long  song  about 
the  wooing  of  a  widow  which  he  informed  me  he  had  gath 
ered  from  an  excellent  black-letter  work,  entitled  "Cupid's 
Solicitor  for  Love,"  containing  store  of  good  advice  for  bache 
lors,  and  which  he  promised  to  lend  me.  The  first  verse  was 
to  this  effect :  — 

"He  that  will  woo  a  widow  must  not  dally, 

He  must  make  hay  while  the  sun  doth  shine ; 
He  must  not  stand  with  her,  shall  I,  shall  I  ? 
But  boldly  say,  Widow,  thou  must  be  mine." 

18.  This  song  inspired  the  fat-headed  old  gentleman,  who 
made  several  attempts  to  tell  a  rather  broad  story  out  of  Joe 
Miller,  that  was  pat  to  the  purpose ;  but  he  always  stuck  in 
the  middle,  everybody  recollecting  the  latter  part  excepting 
himself.    The  parson,  too,  began  to  show  the  effects  of  good 
cheer,  having  gradually  settled  down  into  a  doze,  and  his  wig 
sitting  most  suspiciously  on  one  side.     Just  at  this  juncture 
we  were  summoned  to  the  drawing-room,  and,  I  suspect,  at 
the  private  instigation  of  mine  host,  whose  joviality  seemed 
always  tempered  with  a  proper  love  of  decorum. 

19.  After  the  dinner- table  was  removed,  the  hall  was  given 
up  to  the  younger  members  of  the  family,  who,  prompted 
to  all  kind  of  noisy  mirth  by  the  Oxonian  and  Master  Simon, 
made  its  old  walls  ring  with  their  merriment,  as  they  played 
at  romping  games.     I  delight  in  witnessing  the  gambols  of 
children,  and  particularly  at  this  happy  holiday  season,  and 
could  not  help  stealing  out  of  the  drawing-room  on  hearing 
one  of  their  peals  of  laughter.     I  found  them  at  the  game  of 
blindman's-buff.     Master  Simon,  who  was  the  leader  of  their 
revels,  and  seemed  on  all  occasions  to  fulfil  the  office  of  that 
ancient  potentate,  the  Lord  of  Misrule,1  was  blinded  in  the 
midst  of  the  hall.     The  little  beings  were  as  busy  about  him 
as  the  mock  fairies  about  Falstaff;   pinching  him,  plucking 
at  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  and  tickling  him  with  straws.     One 

1  "  At  Christmasse  there  was  in  the  Kinge's  house,  wheresoever  hee 
was  lodged,  a  lorde  of  misrule,  or  mayster  of  merie  disportes,  and  the 
like  had  ye  in  the  house  of  every  nobleman  of  honor,  or  good  wor- 
shippe,  were  he  spirituall  or  temporall." — STOWE. 


86  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

fine  blue-eyed  girl  of  about  thirteen,  with  her  flaxen  hair  all 
in  beautiful  confusion,  her  frolic  face  in  a  glow,  her  frock  half 
torn  off  her  shoulders,  a  complete  picture  of  a  romp,  was  the 
chief  tormentor ;  and,  from  the  slyness  with  which  Master 
Simon  avoided  the  smaller  game,  and  hemmed  this  wild  little 
nymph  in  corners,  and  obliged  her  to  jump  shrieking  over 
chairs,  I  suspected  the  rogue  of  being  not  a  whit  more  blinded 
than  was  convenient. 

20.  When  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  I  found  the 
company  seated  round  the  fire,  listening  to  the  parson,  who 
was  deeply  ensconced  in  a  high-backed  oaken  chair,  the  work 
of  some  cunning  artificer  of  yore,  which  had  been  brought 
from  the  library  for  his  particular  accommodation.  From 
this  venerable  piece  of  furniture,  with  which  his  shadowy 
figure  and  dark  weazen  face  so  admirably  accorded,  he  was 
dealing  out  strange  accounts  of  the  popular  superstitions  and 
legends  of  the  surrounding  country,  with  which  he  had  be 
come  acquainted  in  the  course  of  his  antiquarian  researches. 
I  am  half  inclined  to  think  that  the  old  gentleman  was  him 
self  somewhat  tinctured  with  superstition,  as  men  are  very 
apt  to  be  who  live  a  recluse  and  studious  life  in  a  sequestered 
part  of  the  country  and  pore  over  black-letter  tracts,  so  often 
filled  with  the  marvellous  and  supernatural.  He  gave  us 
several  anecdotes  of  the  fancies  of  the  neighboring  peasantry, 
concerning  the  effigy  of  the  crusader,  which  lay  on  the  tomb 
by  the  church-altar.  As  it  was  the  only  monument  of  the 
kind  in  that  part  of  the  country,  it  had  always  been  regarded 
with  feelings  of  superstition  by  the  good  wives  of  the  village. 
It  was  said  to  get  up  from  the  tomb  and  walk  the  rounds  of  the 
churchyard  in  stormy  nights,  particularly  when  it  thundered ; 
and  one  old  woman,  whose  cottage  bordered  on  the  church 
yard,  had  seen  it  through  the  windows  of  the  church,  when  the 
moon  shone,  slowly  pacing  up  and  down  the  aisles.  It  was 
the  belief  that  some  wrong  had  been  left  unredressed  by  the 
deceased,  or  some  treasure  hidden,  which  kept  the  spirit  in 
a  state  of  trouble  and  restlessness.  Some  talked  of  gold  and 
jewels  buried  in  the  tomb,  over  which  the  spectre  kept  watch ; 
and  there  was  a  story  current  of  a  sexton  in  old  times,  who  en- 


THE   CHRISTMAS   DINNER  87 

deavored  to  break  his  way  to  the  coffin  at  night,  but,  just 
as  he  reached  it,  received  a  violent  blow  from  the  marble  hand 
of  the  effigy,  which  stretched  him  senseless  on  the  pavement. 
These  tales  were  often  laughed  at  by  some  of  the  sturdier 
among  the  rustics,  yet,  when  night  came  on,  there  were  many 
of  the  stoutest  unbelievers  that  were  shy  of  venturing  alone 
in  the  footpath  that  led  across  the  churchyard. 

21.  From  these  and  other  anecdotes  that  followed,  the 
crusader  appeared  to  be  the  favorite  hero  of  ghost-stories 
throughout  the  vicinity.     His  picture,  which  hung  up  in  the 
hall,  was  thought  by  the  servants  to  have  something  super 
natural  about  it ;  for  they  remarked  that,  in  whatever  part  of 
the  hall  you  went,  the  eyes  of  the  warrior  were  still  fixed  on 
you.    The  old  porter's  wife,  too,  at  the  lodge,  who  had  been 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  family,  and  was  a  great  gossip 
among  the  maid-servants,  affirmed,  that  in  her  young  days 
she  had  often  heard  say,  that  on  Midsummer  eve,  when  it  was 
well  known  all  kinds  of  ghosts,  goblins,  and  fairies  become 
visible  and  walk  abroad,  the  crusader  used  to  mount  his  horse, 
come  down  from  his  picture,  ride  about  the  house,  down  the 
avenue,  and  so  to  the  church  to  visit  the  tomb;   on  which 
occasion  the  church-door  most  civilly  swung  open  of  itself; 
not  that  he  needed  it,  for  he  rode  through  closed  gates  and 
even  stone  walls,  and  had  been  seen  by  one  of  the  dairy 
maids  to  pass  between  two  bars  of  the  great  park-gate,  making 
himself  as  thin  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 

22.  All  these  superstitions  I  found  had  been  very  much 
countenanced  by  the  Squire,  who,  though  not  superstitious 
himself,  was  very  fond  of  seeing  others  so.     He  listened  to 
every  goblin-tale   of  the   neighboring  gossips  with  infinite 
gravity,  and  held  the  porter's  wife  in  high  favor  on  account  of 
her  talent  for  the  marvellous.     He  was  himself  a  great  reader 
of  old  legends  and  romances,  and  often  lamented  that  he 
could  not  believe  in  them;    for  a  superstitious  person,  he 
thought,  must  live  in  a  kind  of  fairy  land. 

23.  Whilst  we  were  all  attention  to  the  parson's  stories,  our 
ears  were  suddenly  assailed  by  a  burst  of  heterogeneous 
sounds  from  the  hall,  in  which  were  mingled  something  like 


88  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

the  clang  of  rude  minstrelsy,  with  the  uproar  of  many  small 
voices  and  girlish  laughter.  The  door  suddenly  flew  open, 
and  a  train  came  trooping  into  the  room,  that  might  almost 
have  been  mistaken  for  the  breaking  up  of  the  court  of  Fairy. 
That  indefatigable  spirit,  Master  Simon,  in  the  faithful  dis 
charge  of  his  duties  as  lord  of  misrule,  had  conceived  the  idea 
of  a  Christmas  mummery  or  masking;  and  having  called  in 
to  his  assistance  the  Oxonian  and  the  young  officer,  who  were 
equally  ripe  for  anything  that  should  occasion  romping  and 
merriment,  they  had  carried  it  into  instant  effect.  The  old 
housekeeper  had  been  consulted ;  the  antique  clothes-presses 
and  wardrobes  rummaged,  and  made  to  yield  up  the  relics 
of  finery  that  had  not  seen  the  light  for  several  generations ; 
the  younger  part  of  the  company  had  been  privately  convened 
from  the  parlor  and  hall,  and  the  whole  had  been  bedizened 
out,  into  a  burlesque  imitation  of  an  antique  mask.1 

24.  Master  Simon  led  the  van,  as  "Ancient  Christmas," 
quaintly  apparelled  in  a  ruff,  a  short  cloak,  which  had  very 
much  the  aspect  of  one  of  the  old  housekeeper's  petticoats, 
and  a  hat  that  might  have  served  for  a  village  steeple,  and 
must  indubitably  have  figured  in  the  days  of  the  Covenanters. 
From  under  this  his  nose  curved  boldly  forth,  flushed  with  a 
frost-bitten  bloom,  that  seemed  the  very  trophy  of  a  Decem 
ber  blast.     He  was  accompanied  by  the  blue-eyed  romp, 
dished  up  as  "  Dame  Mince  Pie,"  in  the  venerable  magnificence 
of  a  faded  brocade,  long  stomacher,  peaked  hat  and  high- 
heeled  shoes.     The  young  officer  appeared  as  Robin  Hood,  in 
a  sporting  dress  of  Kendal  green,  and  a  foraging  cap  with  a 
gold  tassel. 

25.  The  costume,  to  be  sure,  did  not  bear  testimony  to  deep 
research,  and  there  was  an  evident  eye  to  the  picturesque, 
natural  to  a  young  gallant  in  the  presence  of  his  mistress. 
The  fair  Julia  hung  on  his  arm  in  a  pretty  rustic  dress,  as 
"Maid  Marian."    The  rest  of  the  train  had  been  metamor- 

1  Maskings  or  mummeries  were  favorite  sports  at  Christmas  in  old 
times  ;  and  the  wardrobes  at  halls  and  manor-houses  were  often  laid 
under  contribution  to  furnish  dresses  and  fantastic  disguisings.  I 
strongly  suspect  Master  Simon  to  have  taken  the  idea  of  his  from  Ben 
Jonson's  "Masque  of  Christmas." 


THE   CHRISTMAS    DINNER  89 

phosed  in  various  ways :  the  girls  trussed  up  in  the  finery  of 
the  ancient  belles  of  the  Bracebridge  line,  and  the  striplings 
bewhiskered  with  burnt  cork,  and  gravely  clad  in  broad  skirts, 
hanging  sleeves,  and  full-bottomed  wigs,  to  represent  the 
character  of  Roast  Beef,  Plum  Pudding,  and  other  worthies 
celebrated  in  ancient  maskings.  The  whole  was  under  the 
control  of  the  Oxonian,  in  the  appropriate  character  of  Mis 
rule  ;  and  I  observed  that  he  exercised  rather  a  mischievous 
sway  with  his  wand  over  the  smaller  personages  of  the 
pageant. 

26.  The  irruption  of  his  motley  crew,  with  beat  of  drum, 
according  to  ancient  custom,  was  the  consummation  of  uproar 
and  merriment.     Master  Simon  covered  himself  with  glory 
by  the  stateliness-with  which,  as  Ancient  Christmas,  he  walked 
a  minuet  with  the  peerless,  though  giggling,  Dame  Mince  Pie. 
It  was  followed  by  a  dance  of  all  the  characters,  which,  from 
its  medley  of  costumes,  seemed  as  though  the  old  family  por 
traits  had  skipped  down  from  their  frames  to  join  in  the  sport. 
Different  centuries  were  figuring  at  cross  hands  and  right  and 
left;   the  dark  ages  were  cutting  pirouettes  and  rigadoons; 
and  the  days  of  Queen  Bess  jigging  merrily  down  the  middle, 
through  a  line  of  succeeding  generations. 

27.  The  worthy  Squire  contemplated  these  fantastic  sports, 
and  this  resurrection  of  his  old  wardrobe,  with  the  simple  relish 
of  childish  delight.     He  stood  chuckling  and  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  scarcely  hearing  a  word  the  parson  said,  notwith 
standing  that  the  latter  was  discoursing  most  authentically 
on  the  ancient  and  stately  dance  at  the  Paon,  or  peacock, 
from  which  he  conceived  the  minuet  to  be  derived.1     For  my 
part,  I  was  in  a  continual  excitement  from  the  varied  scenes 
of  whim  and  innocent  gayety  passing  before  me.     It  was  in 
spiring  to  see  wild-eyed  frolic  and  warm-hearted  hospitality 
breaking  out  from  among  the  chills  and  glooms  of  winter,  and 

1  Sir  John  Hawkins,  speaking  of  the  dance  called  the  Pavon,  from 
pavo,  a  peacock,  says  :  "It  is  a  grave  and  majestic  dance  ;  the  method 
of  dancing  it  anciently  was  by  gentlemen  dressed  with  caps  and 
swords,  by  those  of  the  long  robe  in  their  gowns,  by  the  peers  in  their 
mantles,  and  by  the  ladies  in  gowns  with  long  trains,  the  motion 
whereof  in  dancing  resembled  that  of  a  peacock." — History  of  Music. 


90  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

old  age  throwing  off  his  apathy,  and  catching  once  more  the 
freshness  of  youthful  enjoyment.  I  felt  also  an  interest  in 
the  scene,  from  the  consideration  that  these  fleeting  customs 
were  posting  fast  into  oblivion,  and  that  this  was,  perhaps, 
the  only  family  in  England  in  which  the  whole  of  them  was 
still  punctiliously  observed.  There  was  a  quaintness,  too, 
mingled  with  all  this  revelry,  that  gave  it  a  peculiar  zest :  it 
was  suited  to  the  time  and  place ;  and  as  the  old  manor-house 
almost  reeled  with  mirth  and  wassail,  it  seemed  echoing  back 
the  joviality  of  long  departed  years.1 

28.  But  enough  of  Christmas  and  its  gambols;   it  is  time 
for  me  to  pause  in  this  garrulity.     Methinks  I  hear  the  ques 
tions  asked  by  my  graver  readers,  "To  what  purpose  is  all 
this ;  how  is  the  world  to  be  made  wiser  by  this  talk  ?  "     Alas  ! 
is  there  not  wisdom  enough  extant  for  the  instruction  of  the 
world?     And  if  not,  are  there  not  thousands  of  abler  pens 
laboring  for  its  improvement  ?  —  It  is  so  much  pleasanter  to 
please  than  to  instruct,  —  to  play  the  companion  rather  than 
the  preceptor. 

29.  What,  after  all,  is  the  mite  of  wisdom  that  I  could 
throw  into  the  mass  of  knowledge ;  or  how  am  I  sure  that  my 
sagest  deductions  may  be  safe  guides  for  the  opinions  of 
others  ?     But  in  writing  to  amuse,  if  I  fail,  the  only  evil  is  in 
my  own  disappointment.     If,  however,  I  can  by  any  lucky 
chance,  in  these  days  of  evil,  rub  out  one  wrinkle  from  the 
brow  of  care,  or  beguile  the  heavy  heart  of  one  moment  of 
sorrow ;   if  I  can  now  and  £hen  penetrate  through  the  gather- 

'  ing  film  of  misanthropy,  prompt  a  benevolent  view  of  hu 
man  nature,  «jid  make  my  reader  more  in  good-humor  with 
his  fellow-beings  and  himself,  surely,  surely,  I  shall  not  then 

•  have  written  entirely  in  vain. 


1  At  the  time  of  the  first  publication  of  this  paper,  the  picture  of  an 
old-fashioned  Christmas  in  the  country  was  pronounced  by  some  as 
out  of  date.  The  author  had  afterwards  an  opportunity  of  witnessing 
almost  all  the  customs  above  described,  existing  in  unexpected  vigor 
in  the  skirts  of  Derbyshire  and  Yorkshire,  where  he  passed  the  Christ 
mas  holidays.  The  reader  will  find  some  notice  of  them  in  the 
author's  account  of  his  sojourn  at'Newstead  Abbey. 


LITTLE  BRITAIN 

[COMMENT.  —  It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  the  gentleman  who 
passed  several  years  in  the  old  wainscoted  chamber  on  the 
second  floor  of  "one  of  the  smallest  but  oldest  edifices  in  this 
district"  is  Irving  himself,  and  the  experiences  of  the  visit  in 
August,  1817,  when  he  found  the  town  quite  deserted,  may 
easily  have  served  to  fill  the  imagined  period  of  residence.  He 
writes,  "  Life  and  Letters,"  I.,  275,  "I  found,  however,  sufficient 
objects  of  curiosity  and  interest  to  keep  me  in  a  worry;  and 
amused  myself  by  exploring  various  parts  of  the  city,  which  in 
the  dirt  and  gloom  of  winter  would  be  almost  inaccessible." 

The  essay  illustrates  in  a  striking  manner  Irving 's  habit  of 
localizing  the  lore  gleaned  from  old  books.  In  "  Little  Britain," 
he  is  striving  to  turn  the  shadow  on  the  dial  backward  by  the 
space  of  several  centuries,  and  makes  believe  with  himself  that 
from  his  room  in  the  " heart's  core"  of  the  old  city  he  witnesses 
a  manner  of  life  the  complexion  of  which  belongs  to  past  gener 
ations.  He  sees  in  daily  occurrences  survivals  of  old  manners, 
and  shares  his  neighbor's  pride  in  the  former  splendors  of  this 
ancient  quarter.  The  "city  wonders,"  the  Lord  Mayor's  show, 
the  lions  in  the  Tower,  the  giants  of  Guildhall  seem  the  "won 
ders  of  the  world." 

He  preserves,  however,  the  character  of  an  onlooker,  albeit 
of  one  who,  in  course  of  time,  has  "worked  his  way  into  all  the 
concerns  and  secrets  of  the  place."  In  the  character  of  an 
antiquarian  he  is  best  able  to  describe  those  customs  and  ob 
servances  which  have  survived  the  changes  of  many  years. 
This  also  supplies  a  point  of  view  which  accounts  for  his  own 
interest  in  everything  old,  whether  relic,  or  superstitious  ob 
servance;  and  in  turn,  as  in  the  Christmas  essays,  he  interests 
the  reader  through  his  own  personality.  The  form  of  the  com 
position,  as  suits  the  adventure  and  the  character,  is  less  that 
of  a  narrative  than  in  the  series  illustrating  holiday  customs. 
Instead  of  incidents  or  characters  we  have  observations  and 
reflections.  Even  the  account  of  the  rivalries  of  the  Lambs 
and  the  Trotters  is  so  generalized  as  to  have  little  personal 
interest.  The  disguise  is  too  thin,  and  generalizations  upon 
the  crude  and  vulgar  aspirations  of  a  shopkeeper's  women  folk 
seem  trite  and  ineffective  as  a  suggestion  of  the  manner  in 
which  an  old-fashioned  community  gradually  gives  up  ancient 
customs  and  assumes  the  characteristics  of  modern  times. 
It  serves  the  author's  purpose,  however,  for  it  draws  the  reader 
back  from  the  old  city  in  which  he  had  lost  himself  and  enables 
the  guide  to  bow  himself  out  at  the  very  moment  when  he  is 
in  danger  of  exhausting  the  patience  of  his  admirers.  D.] 

91 


92  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

What  I  write  is  most  true.  ...  I  have  a  whole  booke  of  cases 
lying  by  me  which  if  I  should  sette  foorth,  some  grave  auntients 
(within  the  hearing  of  Bow  bell)  would  be  out  of  charity  with  me. 

—  NASHE. 

1.  In  the  centre  of  the  great  city  of  London  lies  a  small 
neighborhood,  consisting  of  a  cluster  of  narrow  streets  and 
courts,  of  very  venerable  and  debilitated  houses,  which  goes 
by  the  name  of  LITTLE  BRITAIN.     Christ  Church  School  and 
St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital  bound  it  on  the  west ;  Smithfield 
and  Long  Lane  on  the  north;    Aldersgate,  like  an  arm  of 
the  sea,  divides  it  from  the  eastern  part  of  the  city;   whilst 
the  yawning  gulf  of  Bull-and-Mouth  Street  separates  it  from 
Butcher  Lane,  and  the  regions  of  Newgate.     Over  this  little 
territory,  thus  bounded  and  designated,  the  great  dome  of 
St.  Paul's,  swelling  above  the  intervening  houses  of  Pater 
noster  Row,  Amen  Corner,  and  Ave  Maria  Lane,  looks  down 
with  an  air  of  motherly  protection. 

2.  This  quarter  derives  its  appellation  from  having  been, 
in  ancient  times;  the  residence  of  the  Dukes  of  Brittany.     As 
London  increased,  however,  rank  and  fashion  rolled  off  to  the 
west,  and  trade  creeping  on  at  their  heels,  took  possession  of 
their  deserted  abodes.     For  some  time  Little  Britain  became 
the  great  mart  of  learning,  and  was  peopled  by  the  busy  and 
prolific  race  of  booksellers ;  these  also  gradually  deserted  it, 
and,  emigrating  beyond  the  great  strait  of  Newgate  Street, 
settled  down  in  Paternoster  Row  and  St.  Paul's  Churchyard, 
where  they  continue  to  increase  and  multiply  even  at  the 
present  day. 

3.  But  though  thus  falling  into  decline,  Little  Britain  still 
bears  traces  of  its  former  splendor.     There  are  several  houses 
ready  to  tumble  down,  the  fronts  of  which  are  magnificently 
enriched  with  old  oaken  carvings  of  hideous  faces,  unknown 
birds,  beasts,  and  fishes :  and  fruits  and  flowers  which  it  would 
perplex  a  naturalist  to  classify.     There  are  also,  in  Aldersgate 
Street,  certain  remains  of 'what  were  once  spacious  and  lordly 
family  mansions,  but  which  have  in  latter  days  been  sub 
divided  into  several  tenements.     Here  may  often  be  found 
the  family  of  a  petty  tradesman,  with  its  trumpery  furniture, 
burrowing  among  the  relics  of  antiquated  finery,  in  great 


94  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

rambling,  time-stained  apartments,  with  fretted  ceilings, 
gilded  cornices,  and  enormous  marble  fireplaces.  The  lanes 
and  courts  also  contain, many  smaller  houses,  not  on  so  grand 
a  scale,  but,  like  your  small  ancient  gentry,  sturdily  main 
taining  their  claims  to  equal  antiquity.  These  have  their 
gable  ends  to  the  street;  great  bow-windows,  with  diamond 
panes  set  in  lead,  grotesque  carvings,  and  low  arched  door 
ways.1 

4.  In  this  most  venerable  and  sheltered  little  nest  have  I 
passed  several  quiet  years  of  existence,  comfortably  lodged 
in  the  second  floor  of  one  of  the  smallest  but  oldest  edifices. 
My  sitting-room  is  an  old  wainscoted   chamber,  with  small 
panels,  and  set  off  with  a  miscellaneous  array  of  furniture. 
I  have  a  particular  respect  for  three  or  four  high-backed  claw- 
footed  chairs,  covered  with  tarnished  brocade,  which  bear 
the  marks  of  having  seen  better  days,  and  have  doubtless 
figured  in  some  of  the  old  palaces  of  Little  Britain.     They 
seem  to  me  to  keep  together,  and  to  look  down  with  sovereign 
contempt    upon    their    leathern-bottomed  neighbors:    as    I 
have  seen  decayed  gentry  carry  a  high  head  among  the  ple 
beian  society  with  which  they  were  reduced  to  associate. 
The  whole  front  of  my  sitting-room  is  taken  up  with  a  bow- 
window,  on  the  panes  of  which  are  recorded  the  names  of 
previous    occupants    for    many    generations,    mingled    with 
scraps  of  very  indifferent  gentlemanlike  poetry,  written  in 
characters  which  I  can  scarcely  decipher,  and  which  extol 
the  charms  of  many  a  beauty  of  Little  Britain,  who  has  long, 
long  since  bloomed,  faded,  and  passed  away.     As  I  am  an  idle 
personage,  with  no  apparent  occupation,  and  pay  my  bill 
regularly  every  week,  I  am  looked  upon  as  the  only  indepen 
dent  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood;   and,  being  curious  to 
learn  the  internal  state  of  a  community  so  apparently  shut 
up  within  itself,  I  have  managed  to  work  my  way  into  all 
the  concerns  and  secrets  of  the  place. 

5.  Little  Britain  may  truly  be  called  the  heart's  core  of 

1  It  is  evident  that  the  author  of  this  interesting  communication 
has  included,  in  his  general  title  of  Little  Britain,  many  of  those  little 
lanes  and  courts  that  belong  immediately  to  Cloth  Fair. 


LITTLE   BRITAIN 


95 


the  city,  the  stronghold  of  true  John  Bullism.  It  is  a  frag 
ment  of  London  as  it  was  in  its  better  days,  with  its  antiquated 
folks  and  fashions.  Here  flourish  in  great  preservation  many 
of  the  holiday  games  and  customs  of  yore.  The  inhabitants 
most  religiously  eat  pancakes  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  hot-cross- 
buns  on  Good  Friday,  and  roast  goose  at  Michaelmas;  they 
send  love-letters  on  Valentine's  Day,  burn  the  pope  on  the 
fifth  of  November,  and  kiss  all  the  girls  under  the  mistletoe 


THE  GUILDHALL,  LONDON,  1820 

at  Christmas.  Roast  beef  and  plum-pudding  are  also  held 
in  superstitious  veneration,  and  port  and  sherry  maintain 
their  grounds  as  the  only  true  English  wines ;  all  others  being 
considered  vile  outlandish  beverages. 

6.  Little  Britain  has  its  long  catalogue  of  city  wonders, 
which  its  inhabitants  consider  the  wonders  of  the  world ;  such 
as  the  great  bell  of  St.  Paul's  which  sours  all  the  beer  when  it 
tolls ;  the  figures  that  strike  the  hours  at  St.  Dunstan's  clock  • 


96  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

the  Monument;  the  lions  in  the  Tower;  and  the  wooden 
giants  in  Guildhall.  They  still  believe  in  dreams  and  fortune 
telling,  and  an  old  woman  that  lives  in  Bull-and-Mouth  Street 
makes  a  tolerable  subsistence  by  detecting  stolen  goods,  and 
promising  the  girls  good  husbands.  They  are  apt  to  be  ren 
dered  uncomfortable  by  comets  and  eclipses ;  if  a  dog  howls 
dolefully  at  night,  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  sure  sign  of  a  death 
in  the  place.  There  are  even  many  ghost-stories  current, 
particularly  concerning  the  old-mansion  houses;  in  several 
of  which  it  is  said  strange  sights  are  sometimes  seen. 
Lords  and  ladies,  the  former  in  full-bottomed  wigs,  hanging 
sleeves,  and  swords,  the  latter  in  lappets,  stays,  hoops,  and 
brocade,  have  been  seen  walking  up  and  down  the  great  waste 
chambers,  on  moon-light  nights ;  and  are  supposed  to  be  the 
shades  of  the  ancient  proprietors  in  their  court-dresses. 

7.  Little  Britain  has  likewise  its  sages  and  great  men. 
One  of  the  most  important  of  the  former  is  a  tall,  dry  old 
gentleman,  of  the  name  of  Skryme,  who  keeps  a  small  apothe 
cary's  shop.  He  has  a  cadaverous  countenance,  full  of 
cavities  and  projections,  with  a  brown  circle  round  each  eye 
like  a  pair  of  horned  spectacles.  He  is  much  thought  of  by 
the  old  women,  who  consider  him  as  a  kind  of  conjurer,  be 
cause  he  has  two  or  three  stuffed  alligators  hanging  up  in  his 
shop,  and  several  snakes  in  bottles.  He  is  a  great  reader  of 
almanacs  and  newspapers,  and  is  much  given  to  pore  over 
alarming  accounts  of  plots,  conspiracies,  fires,  earthquakes, 
and  volcanic  eruptions,  which  last  phenomena  he  considers 
as  signs  of  the  times.  He  has  always  some  dismal  tale  of 
the  kind  to  deal  out  to  his  customers  with  their  doses,  and 
thus  at  the  same  time  puts  both  soul  and  body  into  an  up 
roar.  He  is  a  great  believer  in  omens  and  predictions,  and  has 
the  prophecies  of  Robert  Nixon  and  Mother  Shipton  by  heart. 
No  man  can  make  so  much  out  of  an  eclipse,  or  even  an  un 
usually  dark  day,  and  he  shook  the  tail  of  the  last  comet  over 
the  heads  of  his  customers  and  disciples  until  they  were  nearly 
frightened  out  of  their  wits.  He  has  lately  got  hold  of  a  popular 
legend  or  prophecy,  on  which  he  has  been  unusually  eloquent. 
There  has  been  a  saying  current  among  the  ancient  sibyls 


LITTLE    BRITAIN  97 

who  treasure  up  these  things,  that  when  the  grass-hopper  on 
the  top  of  the  Exchange  shook  hands  with  the  dragon  on  the 
top  of  Bow  Church  steeple  fearful  events  would  take  place. 
This  strange  conjunction,  it  seems,  has  as  strangely  come  to 
pass.  The  same  architect  has  been  engaged  lately  on  the 
repairs  of  the  cupola  of  the  Exchange,  and  the  steeple  of  Bow 
Church;  and,  fearful  to  relate,  the  dragon  and  the  grass 
hopper  actually  lie,  cheek  by  jole,  in  the  yard  of  his  workshop. 

8.  "Others,"  as  Mr.  Skryme  is  accustomed  to  say,  "may 
go  star-gazing,  and  look  for  conjunctions  in  the  heavens,  but 
here  is  a  conjunction  on  the  earth,  near  at  home,  and  under 
our  own  eyes,  which  surpasses  all  the  signs  and  calculations 
of  astrologers."     Since  these  portentous  weathercocks  have 
thus  laid  their  heads  together,  wonderful  events  had  already 
occurred.     The  good  old  king,  notwithstanding  that  he  had 
lived  eighty-two  years,  had  all  at  once  given  up  the  ghost; 
another  king  had  mounted  the  throne ;  a  royal  duke  had  died 
suddenly,  —  another,  in  France,  had  been  murdered ;   there 
had  been  radical  meetings  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom;   the 
bloody  scenes  at  Manchester ;  the  great  plot  in  Cato  Street ;  — 
and,  above  all,  the  queen  had  returned  to  England  !    All  these 
sinister  events  are  recounted  by  Mr.  Skryme,  with  a  myste 
rious  look,  and  a  dismal  shake  of  the  head ;   and  being  taken 
with  his  drugs,  and  associated  in  the  minds  of  his  auditors 
with  stuffed   sea-monsters,   bottled   serpents,   and  his  own 
visage,  which  is  a  title-page  of  tribulation,  they  have  spread 
great  gloom  through  the  minds  of  the  people  of  Little  Britain. 
They  shake  their  heads  whenever  they  go  by  Bow  Church, 
and  observe,  that  they  never  expected  any  good  to  come  of 
taking  down  that  steeple,  which  in  old  times  told  nothing  but 
glad  tidings,  as  the  history  of  Whittington  and  his  Cat  bears 
witness. 

9.  The  rival  oracle  of  Little  Britain  is  a  substantial  cheese 
monger,  who  lives  in  a  fragment  of  one  of  the  old  family 
mansions,  and  is  as  magnificently  lodged  as  a  round-bellied 
mite  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his  own  Cheshires.     Indeed,  he 
is  a  man  of  no  little  standing  and  importance;   and  his  re 
nown  extends  through  Huggin  Lane,  and  Lad  Lane,  and  even 


98  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

unto  Alderm anbury.  His  opinion  is  very  much  taken  in 
affairs  of  state,  having  read  the  Sunday  papers  for  the  last 
half  century,  together  with  the  "Gentleman's  Magazine," 
Rapin's  "History  of  England,"  and  the  "Naval  Chronicle." 
His  head  is  stored  with  invaluable  maxims  which  have  borne 
the  test  of  time  and  use  for  centuries.  It  is  his  firm  opinion 
that  "it  is  a  moral  impossible,"  so  long  as  England  is  true 
to  herself,  that  anything  can  shake  her ;  and  he  has  much  to 
say  on  the  subject  of  the  national  debt ;  which,  somehow  or 
other,  he  proves  to  be  a  great  national  bulwark  and  blessing. 
He  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  purlieus  of  Little 
Britain,  until  of  late  years,  when,  having  become  rich,  and 
grown  into  the  dignity  of  a  Sunday  cane,  be  begins  to  take  his 
pleasure  and  see  the  world.  He  has  therefore  made  several 
excursions  to  Hampstead,  Highgate,  and  other  neighbor 
ing  towns,  where  he  has  passed  whole  afternoons  in 
looking  back  upon  the  metropolis  through  a  telescope,  and 
endeavoring  to  descry  the  steeple  of  St.  Bartholomew's. 
Not  a  stage-coachman  of  Bull-and-Mouth  Street  but  touches 
his  hat  as  he  passes ;  and  he  is  considered  quite  a  patron  at  the 
coach-office  of  the  Goose  and  Gridiron,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 
Jlis  family  have  been  very  urgent  for  him  to  make  an  expedi 
tion  to  Margate,  but  he  has  great  doubts  of  those  new  gim- 
cracks,  the  steamboats,  and  indeed  thinks  himself  too  ad 
vanced  in  life  to  undertake  sea-voyages. 

10.  Little  Britain  has  occasionally  its  factions  and  divi 
sions,  and  party  spirit  ran  very  high  at  one  time  in  conse 
quence  of  two  rival  Burial  Societies  being  set  up  in  the  place. 
One  held  its  meeting  at  the  Swan  and  Horse  Shoe,  and  was 
patronized  by  the  cheesemonger ;  the  other  at  tlie  Cock  and 
Crown,  under  the  auspices  of  the  apothecary :  it  is  needless 
to  say  that  the  latter  was  the  most  flourishing.  I  have  passed 
an  evening  or  two  at  each,  and  have  acquired  much  valuable 
information,  as  to  the  best  mode  of  being  buried,  the  compar 
ative  merits  of  churchyards,  together  with  divers  hints  on  the 
subject  of  patent-iron  coffins.  I  have  heard  the  question  dis 
cussed  in  all  its  bearings  as  to  the  legality  of  prohibiting  the 
latter  on  account  of  their  durability.  The  feuds  occasioned 


LITTLE   BRITAIN  99 

by  these  societies  have  happily  died  of  late ;  but  they  were  for 
a  long  time  prevailing  themes  of  controversy,  the  people  of 
Little  Britain  being  extremely  solicitous  of  funereal  honors 
and  of  lying  comfortably  in  their  graves. 

11.  Besides  these  two  funeral  societies  there  is  a  third  of 
quite  a  different  cast,  which  tends  to  throw  the  sunshine  of 
good-humor  over  the  whole  neighborhood.     It  meets  once 
a  week  at  a  little  old  fashioned  house,  kept  by  a  jolly  publican 
of  the  name  of  Wagstaff,  and  bearing  for  insignia  a  resplendent 
half-moon,   with  a  most   seductive  bunch  of  grapes.     The 
old  edifice  is  covered  with  inscriptions  to  catch  the  eye  of  the 
thirsty  wayfarer;    such  as   "Truman,   Hanbury,   and  Co.'s 
Entire,"  "Wine,  Rum,  and  Brandy  Vaults/'  "Old  Tom,  Rum 
and  Compounds,  etc."      This  indeed  has  been  a  temple,  of 
Bacchus  and  Momus  from  time  immemorial.     It  has  always 
been  in  the  family  of  the  Wagstaffs,  so  that  its  history  is 
tolerably  preserved  by  the  present  landlord.     It  was  much 
frequented  by  the  gallants  and  cavalieros  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  and  was  looked  into  now  and  then  by  the  wits  of 
Charles  the  Second's  day.     But  what  Wagstaff  principally 
prides  himself  upon  is,  that  Henry  the  Eighth,  in  one  of  his 
nocturnal  rambles,  broke  the  head  of  one  of  his  ancestors  with 
his  famous  walking-staff.     This   however  is   considered   as 
rather  a  dubious  and  vain-glorious  boast  of  the  landlord. 

12.  The  club  which  now  holds  its  weekly  sessions  here  goes 
by  the  name  of  "The  Roaring  Lads  of  Little  Britain."    They 
abound  in  old  catches,  glees,  and  choice  stories,  that  are  tra 
ditional  in  the  place,  and  not  to  be  met  with  in  any  other 
part  of  the  metropolis.     There  is  a  madcap  undertaker  who 
is  inimitable  at  a  merry  song ;   but  the  life  of  the  club,  and 
indeed  the  prime  wit  of  Little  Britain,  is  bully  Wagstaff  him 
self.     His  ancestors  were  all  wags  before  him,  and  he  has  in- 
herited  with  the  inn  a  large  stock  of  songs  and  jokes,  which 
go  with  it  from  generation  to  generation  as  heirlooms.     He 
is  a  dapper  little  fellow,  with  bandy  legs  and  pot-belly,  a  red 
face,  with  moist  merry  eye,  and  a  little  shock  of  gray  hair 
behind.     At  the  opening  of  every  club-night  he  is  called  in  to 
sing  his  "Confession  of  Faith,"  which  is  the  famous  old  drink- 


100 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


ing-trowl  from  "Gammer  Gurton's  Needle."  He  sings  it, 
to  be  sure,  with  many  variations,  as  he  received  it  from  his 
father's  lips ;  for  it  had  been  a  standing  favorite  at  the  Half- 
Moon  and  Bunch  of  Grapes  ever  since  it  was  written :  nay, 
he  affirms  that  his  predecessors  have  often  had  the  honor  of 
singing  it  before  the  nobility  and  gentry  at  Christmas  mum 
meries,  when  Little  Britain  was  in  all  its  glory.1 

13.  It  would  do  one's  heart  good  to  hear,  on  a  club  night, 
the  shouts  of  merriment,  the  snatches  of  song,  and  now  and 
then  the  choral  bursts  of  half  a  dozen  discordant  voices,  which 


THE  MANSION  HOUSE,  RESIDENCE  OF  THE  LORD  MAYOR 

issue  from  this  jovial  mansion.  At  such  times  the  street 
is  lined  with  listeners,  who  enjoy  a  delight  equal  to  that  of 
gazing  into  a  confectioner's  window,  or  snuffing  up  the  steams 
of  a  cookshop. 

14.  There  are  two  annual  events  which  produce  great  stir 
and  sensation  in  Little  Britain ;  these  are  St.  Bartholomew's 
fair,  and  the  Lord  Mayor's  day.  During  the  time  of  the  fair, 
which  is  held  in  the  adjoining  regions  of  Smithfield,  there  is 

1  As  mine  host  of  the  Half-Moon's  "Confession  of  Faith"  may  not 
be  familiar  to  the  majority  of  readers,  and  as  it  is  a  specimen  of  the 


LITTLE   BRITAIN  101 

nothing  going  on  but  gossiping  and  gadding  about.  The  late 
quiet  streets  of  Little  Britain  are  overrun  with  an  irruption  of 
strange  figures  and  faces ;  every  tavern  is  a  scene  of  rout  and 
revel.  The  fiddle  and  the  song  are  heard  from  the  tap-room, 
morning,  noon,  and  night ;  and  at  each  window  may  be  seen 

current  songs  of  Little  Britain,  I  subjoin  it  in  its  original  orthography. 
I  would  observe,  that  the  whole  club  always  join  in  the  chorus  with  a 
fearful  thumping  on  the  table  and  clattering  of  pewter  pots. 

I  cannot  eate  but  lytle  meate, 

My  stomacke  is  not  good, 
But  sure  I  thinke  that  I  can  drinke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care, 

I  nothing  am  a  colde, 
I  stuff  my  skyn  so  full  within, 

Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Chorus.  Backe  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Booth  foote  and  hand  go  colde. 
But  belly,  God  send  thee  good  ale  ynoughe 

Whether  it  be  new  or  olde. 

I  have  no  rost,  but  a  nut  brawne  toste, 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fyre ; 
A  little  breade  shall  do  me  steade, 

Much  breade  I  not  desyre. 
No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  winde,  I  trowe, 

Can  hurte  mee,  if  I  wolde, 
I  am  so  wrapt  and  throwly  lapt 

Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Chorus.  Backe  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  etc. 

And  Tyb  my  wife,  that,  as  her  lyfe, 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seeke, 
Full  oft  drynkes  shee,  tyll  ye  may  see, 

The  teares  run  downe  her  cheeke. 
Then  doth  she  trowle  to  me  the  bowle, 

Even  as  a  mault-worme  sholde, 
And  sayth,  sweete  harte,  I  took  my  parte 

Of  this  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Chorus.  Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  etc. 

Now  let  them  drynke,  tyll  they  nod  and  winke 

Even  as  goode  fellowes  sholde  doe, 
They  shall  not  mysse  to  have  the  blisse, 

Good  ale  doth  bring  men  to ; 
And  all  poore  soules  that  have  scowred  bowles, 

Or  have  them  lustily  trolde, 
God  save  the  lyves  of  them  and  their  wives, 

Whether  they  be  yong  or  olde. 
Chorus.  Backe  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  etc. 


102  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

some  group  of  boon  companions,  with  half-shut  eyes,  hats 
on  one  side,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  tankard  in  hand,  fondling,  and 
prosing,  and  singing  maudlin  songs  over  their  liquor.  Even 
the  sober  decorum  of  private  families,  which  I  must  say  is 
rigidly  kept  up  at  other  times  among  my  neighbors,  is  no 
proof  against  this  Saturnalia.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  keep 
ing  maid-servants  within  doors.  Their  brains  are  absolutely 
set  madding  with  Punch  and  the  Puppet-Show ;  the  Flying 
Horses;  Signior  Polito;  the  Fire-Eater;  the  celebrated  Mr. 
Paap ;  and  the  Irish  Giant.  The  children,  too,  lavish  all  their 
holiday  money  in  toys  and  gilt  gingerbread,  and  fill  the  house 
with  the  Lilliputian  din  of  drums,  trumpets,  and  penny- 
whistles. 

15.  But  the  Lord  Mayor's  day  is  the  great  anniversary. 
The  Lord  Mayor  is  looked  up  to  by  the  inhabitants  of  Little 
Britain  as  the  greatest  potentate  upon  earth;  his  gilt  coach 
with  six  horses  as  the  summit  of  human  splendor;   and  his 
procession,  with  all  the  Sheriffs  and  Aldermen  in  his  train, 
as  the  grandest  of  earthly  pageants.     How  they  exult  in  the 
idea,  that  the  King  himself  dare  not  enter  the  city,  without 
first  knocking  at  the  gate  of  Temple  Bar,  and  asking  per 
mission  of  the  Lord  Mayor :  for  if  he  did,  heaven  and  earth ! 
there  is  no  knowing  what  might  be  the  consequence.     The 
man  in  armor  who  rides  before  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  is  the 
city  champion,  has  orders  to  cut  down  everybody  that  offends 
against  the  dignity  of  the  city;   and  then  there  is  the  little 
man  with  a  velvet  porringer  on  his  head,  who  sits  at  the  win 
dow  of  the  state-coach,  and  holds  the  city  sword,  as  long  as 
a  pike-staff  —  Odd's  blood !     If  he  once  draws  that  sword, 
Majesty  itself  is  not  safe ! 

16.  Under  the  protection  of  this  mighty  potentate,  there 
fore,  the  good  people  of  Little  Britain  sleep  in  peace.     Temple 
Bar  is  an  effectual  barrier  against  all  interior  foes ;  and  as  to 
foreign  invasion,  the  Lord  Mayor  has  but  to  throw  himself 
into  the  Tower,  call  in  the  train-bands,  and  put  the  standing 
army  of  Beef-eaters  under  arms,  and  he  may  bid  defiance  to 
the  world ! 

17.  Thus  wrapped  up  in  its  own  concerns,  its  own  habits, 


104  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

and  its  own  opinions,  Little  Britain  has  long  flourished  as  a 
sound  heart  to  this  great  fungous  metropolis.  I  have  pleased 
myself  with  considering  it  as  a  chosen  spot,  where  the  prin 
ciples  of  sturdy  John  Bullism  were  garnered  up,  like  seed- 
corn,  to  renew  the  national  character,  when  it  had  run  to 
waste  and  degeneracy.  I  have  rejoiced  also  in  the  general 
spirit  of  harmony  that  prevailed  throughout  it;  for  though 
there  might  now  and  then  be  a  few  clashes  of  opinion  between 
the  adherents  of  the  cheesemonger  and  the  apothecary,  and 
an  occasional  feud  between  the  burial  societies,  yet  these  were 
but  transient  clouds,  and  soon  passed  away.  The  neighbors 
met  with  good-will,  parted  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
never  abused  each  other  except  behind  their  backs. 

18.  I  could  give  rare  descriptions  of  snug  junketing  parties 
at  which  I  have  been  present ;  where  we  played  at  All-Fours, 
Pope-Joan,  Tom-come-tickle-me,  and  other  choice  old  games ; 
and  where  we  sometimes  had  a  good  old  English  country 
dance  to  the  tune  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.     Once  a  year  also 
the  neighbors  would  gather  together,  and  go  on  a  gypsy  party 
to  Epping  Forest.     It  would  have  done  any  man's  heart  good 
to  see  the  merriment  that  took  place  here  as  we  banqueted 
on  the  grass  under  the  trees.     How  we  made  the  woods  ring 
with  bursts  of  laughter  at  the  songs  of  little  Wagstaff  and  the 
merry  undertaker !    After  dinner,  too,  the  young  folks  would 
play  at   blind-man's-buff  and  hide-and-seek;    and   it  was 
amusing  to  see  them  tangled  among  the  briers,  and  to  hear 
a  fine  romping  girl  now  and  then  squeak  from  among  the 
bushes.     The  elder  folks  would  gather  round  the   cheese 
monger  and  the  apothecary,  to  hear  them  talk  politics;  for 
they  generally  brought  out  a  newspaper  in  their  pockets,  to 
pass  away  time  in  the  country.    They  would  now  and  then,  to 
be  sure,  get  a  little  warm  in  argument ;  but  their  disputes  were 
always  adjusted  by  reference  to  a  worthy  old  umbrella-maker  in 
a  double  chin,  who,  never  exactly  comprehending  the  subject, 
managed  somehow  or  other  to  decide  in  favor  of  both  parties. 

19.  All  empires,  however,  says  some  philosopher  or  his 
torian,   are   doomed  to   changes  and  revolutions.     Luxury 
and  innovation  creep  in ;  factions  arise  and  families  now  and 


LITTLE   BRITAIN 


105 


then  spring  up,  whose  ambition  and  intrigues  throw  the  whole 
system  into  confusion.  Thus  in  latter  days  has  the  tranquil 
lity  of  Little  Britain  been  grievously  disturbed,  and  its  golden 
simplicity  of  manners  threatened  with  total  subversion,  by 
the  aspiring  family  of  a  retired  butcher. 

20.  The  family  of  the  Lambs  had  long  been  among  the 
most  thriving  and  popular  in  the  neighborhood;  the  Miss 
Lambs  were  the  belles  of  Little  Britain,  and  everybody  was 


TEMPLE  BAR 
Pulled  down  in  1877 

pleased  when  Old  Lamb  had  made  money  enough  to  shut 
up  shop,  and  put  his  name  on  a  brass  plate  on  his  door.  In 
an  evil  hour,  however,  one  of  the  Miss  Lambs  had  the  honor 
of  being  a  lady  in  attendance  on  the  Lady  Mayoress,  at  her 
great  annual  ball,  on  which  occasion  she  wore  three  towering 
ostrich  feathers  on  her  head.  The  family  never  got  over  it; 
they  were  immediately  smitten  with  a  passion  for  high  life ; 
set  up  a  one-horse  carriage,  put  a  bit  of  gold  lace  round  the 


106  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

errand-boy's  hat,  and  have  been  the  talk  and  detestation  of 
the  whole  neighborhood  ever  since.  They  could  no  longer 
be  induced  to  play  at  Pope-Joan  or  blind-man's-buff;  they 
could  endure  no  dances  but  quadrilles,  which  nobody  had  ever 
heard  of  in  Little  Britain ;  and  they  took  to  reading  novels, 
talking  bad  French,  and  playing  upon  the  piano.  Their 
brother,  too,  who  had  been  articled  to  an  attorney,  set  up  for 
a  dandy  and  a  critic,  characters  hitherto  unknown  in  these 
parts;  and  he  confounded  the  worthy  folks  exceedingly  by 
talking  about  Kean,  the  opera,  and  the  "Edinburgh  Review." 

21.  What  was  still  worse,  the  Lambs  gave  a  grand  ball, 
to  which  they  neglected  to  invite  any  of  their  old  neighbors ; 
but  they  had  a  great  deal  of  genteel  company  from  Theobald's 
Road,  Red-Lion  Square,  and  other  parts  towards  the  west. 
There  were  several  beaux  of  their  brother's  acquaintance  from 
Gray's  Inn  Lane  and  Hatton  Garden ;  and  not  less  than  three 
Aldermen's  ladies  with  their  daughters.     This  was  not  to  be 
forgotten  or  forgiven.     All  Little  Britain  was  in  an  uproar 
with  the  smacking  of  whips,  the  lashing  of  miserable  horses, 
and  the  rattling  and  the  jingling  of  hackney  coaches.     The 
gossips  of  the  neighborhood  might  be  seen  popping  their 
nightcaps  out  at  every  window,  watching  the  crazy  vehicles 
rumble  by ;  and  there  was  a  knot  of  virulent  old  cronies,  that 
kept  a  lookout  from  a  house  just  opposite  the  retired  butcher's, 
and  scanned  and  criticized  every  one  that  knocked  at  the  door. 

22.  This  dance  was  a  cause  of  almost  open  war,  and  the 
whole  neighborhood  declared  they  would  have  nothing  more 
to  say  to  the  Lambs.     It  is  true  that  Mrs.  Lamb,  when  she 
had  no  engagements  with  her  quality  acquaintance,  would  give 
little  humdrum  tea-junketings  to  some  of  her  old  cronies, 
"quite,"  as  she  would  say,  "in  a  friendly  way;"  and  it  is 
equally  true  that  her  invitations  were  always  accepted,  in 
spite  of  all  previous  vows  to  the  contrary.    Nay,  the  good  ladies 
would  sit  and  be  delighted  with  the  music  of  the  Miss  Lambs, 
who  would  condescend  to  strum  an  Irish  melody  for  them  on 
the  piano ;  and  they  would  listen  with  wonderful  interest  to 
Mrs.   Lamb's  anecdotes  of  Alderman   Plunket's  family,   of 
Portsokenward,  and  the  Miss  Timberlakes,  the  rich  heiresses 


LITTLE   BRITAIN  107 

of  Crutched-Friars ;  but  then  they  relieved  their  consciences, 
and  averted  the  reproaches  of  their  confederates,  by  canvassing 
at  the  next  gossiping  convocation  everything  that  had  passed, 
and  pulling  the  Lambs  and  their  route  all  to  pieces. 

23.  The  only  one  of  the  family  that  could  not  be  made 
fashionable  was  the  retired  butcher  himself.     Honest  Lamb, 
in  spite  of  the  meekness  of  his  name,  was  a  rough,  hearty 
old  fellow,  with  the  voice  of  a  lion,  a  head  of  black  hair  like 
a  shoe-brush,  and  a  broad  face  mottled  like  his  own  beef.     It 
was  in  vain  that  the  daughters  always  spoke  of  him  as  "the 
old  gentleman,"  addressed  him  as  "papa,"  in  tones  of  infinite 
softness,  and  endeavored  to  coax  him  into  a  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  and  other  gentlemanly  habits.     Do  what  they 
might,  there  was  no  keeping  down  the  butcher.     His  sturdy 
nature  would  break  through  all  their  glozings.     He  had  a 
hearty  vulgar  good-humor  that  was  irrepressible.     His  very 
jokes  made  his  sensitive  daughters  shudder;  and  he  persisted 
in  wearing  his  blue  cotton  coat  of  a  morning,  dining  at  two 
o'clock,  and  having  a  "bit  of  sausage  with  his  tea." 

24.  He  was  doomed,  however,  to  share  the  unpopularity 
of  his  family.     He  found  his  old  comrades  gradually  growing 
cold  and  civil  to  him;  no  longer  laughing  at  his  jokes;  and 
now  and  then  throwing  out  a  fling  at  "some  people,"  and  a 
hint  about  "quality  binding."    This  both  nettled  and  per 
plexed  the  honest  butcher ;  and  his  wife  and  daughters,  with 
the  consummate  policy  of  the  shrewder  sex,  taking  advantage 
of  the  circumstance,  at  length  prevailed  upon  him  to  give  up 
his  afternoon's  pipe  and  tankard  at  WagstafPs;  to  sit  after 
dinner  by  himself,  and  take  his  pint  of  port  —  a  liquor  he 
detested  —  and  to  nod  in  his  chair  in  solitary  and  dismal 
gentility. 

25.  The  Miss  Lambs  might  now  be  seen  flaunting  along  the 
streets  in  French  bonnets,  with  unknown  beaux ;  and  talking 
and  laughing  so  loud  that  it  distressed  the  nerves  of  every 
good  lady  within  hearing.     They  even  went  so  far  as  to  at 
tempt  patronage,  and  actually  induced  a  French  dancing- 
master  to  set  up  in  the  neighborhood ;   but  the  worthy  folks 
of  Little  Britain  took  fire  at  it,  and  did  so  persecute  the  poor 


108  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Gaul,  that  he  was  fain  to  pack  up  fiddle  and  dancing-pumps, 
and  decamp  with  such  precipitation,  that  he  absolutely  forgot 
to  pay  for  his  lodgings. 

26.  I  had  flattered  myself,  at  first,  with  the  idea  that  all 
this  fiery  indignation  on  the  part  of  the  community  was 
merely  the  overflowing  of  their  zeal  for  good  old  English 
manners,  and  their  horror  of  innovation;   and  I  applauded 
the  silent  contempt  they  were  so  vociferous  in  expressing, 
for  upstart  pride,  French  fashions,  and  the  Miss  Lambs.     But 
I  grieve  to  say  that  I  soon  perceived  the  infection  had  taken 
hold;    and   that  my  neighbors,  after  condemning,  were   be 
ginning  to  follow  their  example.     I  overheard  my  landlady 
importuning  her  husband  to  let  their  daughters  have  one 
quarter  at  French  and  music,  and  that  they  might  take  a  few 
lessons  in  quadrille.     I  even  saw,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sun 
days,  no  less  than  five  French  bonnets,  precisely  like  those  of 
the  Miss  Lambs,  parading  about  little  Britain. 

27.  I  still  had  my  hopes  that  all  this  folly  would  gradually 
die  away;  that  the  Lambs  might  move  out  of  the  neighbor 
hood  ;  might  die,  or  might  run  away  with  attorneys'  appren 
tices  ;  and  that  quiet  and  simplicity  might  be  again  restored 
to  the  community.     But  unluckily  a  rival  power  arose.     An 
opulent  oilman  died,  and  left  a  widow  with  a  large  jointure 
and  a  family  of  buxom  daughters.     The  young  ladies  had 
long  been  repining  in  secret  at  the  parsimony  of  a  prudent 
father,  which  kept  down  all  their  elegant  aspirings.     Their 
ambition,  being  now  no  longer  restrained,  broke  out  into  a 
blaze,  and  they  openly  took  the  field  against  the  family  of  the 
butcher.     It  is  true  that  the  Lambs,  having  had  the  first 
start,  had  naturally  an  advantage  of  them  in  the  fashionable 
career.     They  could  speak  a  little  bad  French,  play  the  piano, 
dance  quadrilles,  and  had  formed  high  acquaintances;   but 
the  Trotters  were  not  to  be  distanced.     When  the  Lambs 
appeared  with  two  feathers  in  their  hats,  the  Miss  Trotters 
mounted  four,  and  of  twice  as  fine  colors.     If  the  Lambs  gave 
a  dance,  the  Trotters  were  sure  not  to  be  behindhand;   and 
though  they  might  not  boast  of  as  good  company,  yet  they 
had  double  the  number,  and  were  twice  as  merry. 


LITTLE   BRITAIN  109 

28.  The  whole  community  has  at  length  divided  itself 
into  fashionable  factions,  under  the  banners  of  these  two 
families.     The  old  games  of  Pope-Joan  and  Tom-come-tickle- 
me  are  entirely  discarded;   there  is  no  such  thing  as  getting 
up  an  honest  country-dance ;   and  on  my  attempting  to  kiss 
a  young  lady  under  the  mistletoe  last  Christmas,  I  was  in 
dignantly  repulsed;    the  Miss  Lambs  having  pronounced  it 
"  shocking  vulgar."    Bitter  rivalry  has  also  broken  out  as  to 
the  most  fashionable  part  of  Little  Britain ;  the  Lambs  stand 
ing  up  for  the  dignity  of  Cross-Keys  Square,  and  the  Trotters 
for  the  vicinity  of  St.  Bartholomew's. 

29.  Thus  is  this  little  territory  torn  by  factions  and  internal 
dissentions,  like  the  great  empire  whose  rmme  it  bears;   and 
what  will  be  the  result  would  puzzle  the  apothecary  himself, 
with  all  his  talent  at  prognostics,  to  determine;    though  I 
apprehend  that  it  will  terminate  in  the  total  downfall  of 
genuine  John  Bullism. 

30.  The  immediate  effects  are  extremely  unpleasant  to  me. 
Being  a  single  man,  and,  as  I  observed  before,  rather  an  idle 
good-for-nothing  personage,  I  have  been  considered  the  only 
gentleman  by  profession  in  the  place.     I  stand  therefore  in 
high  favor  with  both  parties,  and  have  to  hear  all  their  cabinet 
councils  and  mutual  backbitings.     As  I  am  too  civil  not  to 
agree  with  the  ladies  on  all  occasions,  I  have  committed  my 
self  most  horribly  with  both  parties,  by  abusing  their  oppo 
nents.     I  might  manage  to  reconcile  this  to  my  conscience, 
which  is  a  truly  accommodating  one,  but  I  cannot  to  my 
apprehension  —  if   the  Lambs  and  Trotters  ever  come  to  a 
reconciliation,  and  compare  notes,  I  am  ruined ! 

31.  I  have  determined,  therefore,  to  beat  a  retreat  in  time, 
and  am  actually  looking  out  for  some  other  nest  in  this  great 
city,  where  old    English  manners  are  still    kept  up;   where 
French  is  neither  eaten,  drunk,  danced,  nor  spoken ;  and  where 
there  are  no  fashionable  families  of  retired  tradesmen.     This 
found,  I  will,  like  a  veteran  rat,  hasten  away  before  I  have  an  old 
house  about  my  ears ;  bid  a  long,  though  a  sorrowful  adieu  to 
my  present  abode,  and  leave  the  rival  factions  of  the  Lambs  and 
Trotters  to  divide  the  distracted  empire  of  LITTLE  BRITAIN. 


A  SUNDAY  IN  LONDON1 

1.  In  a  preceding  paper  I  have  spoken  of  an  English  Sunday 
in  the  country,  and  its  tranquillizing  effect  upon  the  land 
scape;   but  where  is  its  sacred  influence  more  strikingly  ap 
parent  than  in  the  very  heart  of  that  great  Babel,  London  ? 
On  this  sacred  day,  the  gigantic  monster  is  charmed  into 
repose.     The  intolerable  din  and  struggle  of  the  week  are  at 
an  end.     The  shops  are  shut.     The  fires  of  forges  and  manu 
factories  are  extinguished;   and  the  sun,  no  longer  obscured 
by  murky  clouds  of  smoke,   pours  down   a  sober,   yellow 
radiance  into  the  quiet  streets.     The  few  pedestrians  we  meet, 
instead  of  hurrying  forward  with  anxious  countenances,  move 
leisurely  along;   their  brows  are  smoothed  from  the  wrinkles 
of  business  and  care ;  they  have  put  on  their  Sunday  looks  and 
Sunday  manners  with  their  Sunday  clothes,  and  are  cleansed 
in  mind  as  well  as  in  person. 

2.  And  now  the  melodious  clangor  of  bells  from  church- 
towers  summons  their  several  flocks  to  the  fold.     Forth  issues 
from  his  mansion  the  family  of  the  decent  tradesman,  the 
small  children  in  the  advance ;  then  the  citizen  and  his  comely 
spouse,   followed   by  the   grown-up   daughters,   with   small 
morocco-bound  prayer-books  laid  in  the  folds  of  their  pocket- 
handkerchiefs.     The  housemaid  looks  after  them  from  the 
window,  admiring  the  finery  of  the  family,  and  receiving, 
perhaps,  a  nod  and  smile  from  her  young  mistresses,  at  whose 
toilet  she  has  assisted. 

3.  Now  rumbles  along  the  carriage  of  some  magnate  of  the 
city,  peradventure  an  alderman  or  a  sheriff;    and  now  the 
patter  of  many  feet  announces  a  procession  of  charity  scholars, 
in  uniforms  of  antique  cut,  and  each  with  a  prayer-book  under 
his  arm. 

4.  The  ringing  of  bells  is  at  an  end ;   the  rumbling  of  the 
carriage  has  ceased ;   the  pattering  of  feet  is  heard  no  more ; 
the  flocks  are  folded  in  ancient  churches,  cramped  up  in  by- 
lanes  and  corners  of  the  crowded  city,  where  the  vigilant 
beadle  keeps  watch,  like  the  shepherd's  dog,  round  the  thresh- 

1  Part  of  a  sketch  omitted  in  the  preceding  editions. 
110 


A   SUNDAY   IN    LONDON  111 

old  of  the  sanctuary.  For  a  time  everything  is  hushed ;  but 
soon  is  heard  the  deep,  pervading  sound  of  the  organ,  rolling 
and  vibrating  through  the  empty  lanes  and  courts ;  and  the 
sweet  chanting  of  the  choir  making  them  resound  with  melody 
and  praise.  Never  have  I  been  more  sensible  of  the  sanctify 
ing  effect  of  church-music  than  when  I  have  heard  it  thus 
poured  forth,  like  a  river  of  joy,  through  the  inmost  recesses 
of  this  great  metropolis,  elevating  it,  as  it  were,  from  all  the 
sordid  pollutions  of  the  week;  and  bearing  the  poor  world- 
worn  soul  on  a  tide  of  triumphant  harmony  to  heaven. 

5.  The  morning  service  is  at  an  end.     The  streets  are  again 
alive  with  the  congregations  returning  to  their  homes,  but 
soon  again  relapse  into  silence.     Now  comes  on  the  Sunday 
dinner,  which,  to  the  city  tradesman,  is  a  meal  of  some  im 
portance.     There  is  more  leisure  for  social  enjoyment  at  the 
board.     Members  of  the  family  can  now  gather  together, 
who  are  separated  by  the  laborious  occupations  of  the  week. 
A  schoolboy  may  be  permitted  on  that  day  to  come  to  the 
paternal  home;   an  old  friend  of  the  family  takes  his  accus 
tomed  Sunday  seat  at  the  board,  tells    over  his  well-known 
stories,   and  rejoices  young  and   old  with  his  well-known 
jokes. 

6.  On  Sunday  afternoon  the  city  pours  forth  its  legions  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air  and  enjoy  the  sunshine  of  the  parks  and 
rural  environs.     Satirists  may  say  what  they  please  about  the 
rural  enjoyments  of  a  London  citizen  on  Sunday,  but  to  me 
there  is  something  delightful  in  beholding  the  poor  prisoner 
of  the  crowded  and  dusty  city  enabled  thus  to  come  forth  once 
a  week  and  throw  himself  upon  the  green  bosom  of  nature. 
He  is  like  a  child  restored  to  the  mother's  breast ;   and  they 
who  first  spread  out  these  noble  parks  and  magnificent  pleas 
ure-grounds  which  surround  this  huge  metropolis,  have  done 
at  least  as  much  for  its  health  and  morality  as  if  they  had 
expended   the   amount   of   cost   in   hospitals,    prisons,    and 
penitentiaries. 


LONDON  ANTIQUES 

[COMMENT.  —  In  the  month  of  August,  1817,  Irving  spent 
three  weeks  in  the  heart  of  London.  In  this  interval  he  made 
the  ramble  of  observation  in  which,  sorely  buffeted  by  the 
current  of  population  setting  through  Fleet  Street,  he  plunged 
into  a  narrow  by-way  which  led  by  crooked  turns  into  Foun 
tain  Court  of  Middle  Temple  and  thence  to  the  ancient  Saxon 
portal  of  the  chapel  of  the  Knights  Templar.  This  adventure 
suggests  the  occupation  that  pleased  him  best  in  the  leisure 
hours  of  his  residence  in  the  city,  and  reveals  the  source  of  sev 
eral  essays  of  "The  Sketch-Book." 

The  description  of  Charterhouse  in  "London  Antiques"  at 
once  suggests  "The  Newcomes."  The  gray  haired  old  men, 
clad  in  long  black  cloaks,  remind  us  of  the  humble,  bowed  head 
of  Thomas  Newcome ;  as  we  follow  our  author  about  and  see 
the  boys  at  play,  or  the  long  line  of  pensioners  returning  from 
service,  we  feel  that  Irving  must  have  had  this  story  in  mind, 
but  in  truth,  his  essay  was  written  while  Thackeray  was  yet 
a  schoolboy,  playing  in  the  open  spaces  of  the  old  enclosure. 

In  this  essay,  the  author  appears  without  disguise  as  the 
antiquity-hunter  who  escapes  "from  the  prosaic  commonplace 
world  about  him  through  his  poetical  and  romantic  interest 
in  the  relics  of  old  times."  The  first  adventure,  in  which  he 
encounters  the  ancient  knights  of  the  Temple,  serves  to  define 
his  temper  of  mind  and  interest.  The  second,  similar  in  kind, 
becomes  the  subject  of  the  essay;  this  is  arranged  as  if  by 
model,  and  the  parts  follow  one  another  in  due  order,  —  the 
description  of  the  "stately  gothic  pile,"  within,  and  without; 
the  atmosphere  pervading  hall  and  court,  the  impression  of  all 
upon  the  susceptible  traveller;  then,  a  glimpse  of  the  human 
life  within,  again  reflected  in  the  traveller's  point  of  view,  as  if, 
in  reality,  the  ghosts  of  his  dreams  had  appeared.  This  fur 
nishes  the  clue  to  the  following  paragraphs  in  which  Irving 
skilfully  narrates  what  he  saw  as  he  went  about,  but  all  the 
while  casts  over  the  reader  the  spell  of  his  own  fanciful  humor 
so  that  when  we  at  length  emerge  to  the  streets  and  traffic  of 
the  modern  city  we  seem  to  have  returned  from  a  distant  past, 
to  which  everything  we  have  seen,  even  the  living  figures, 
rightfully  belongs. 

Since  Irving's  day,  many  changes  have  taken  place  in  the 
parts  of  London  of  which  he  wrote,  but  Charterhouse  still 
provides  for  the  pensioners  fortunate  enough  to  find  shelter 
for  old  age  within  its  walls.  The  school  was  removed  in  1872, 
to  Gpdalming,  in  Surrey;  the  old  school  buildings  have  been 
rebuilt  and  are  now  tenanted  by  the  school  of  the  Merchant 
Tailors'  Company.  D.] 

112 


LONDON  ANTIQUES  113 

I  do  walk 

Methinks  like  Guido  Vaux,  with  my  dark  lanthorn 
Stealing  to  set  the  town  o'  fire ;  i'  th'  country 
I  should  be  taken  for  William  o'  the  Wisp, 
Or  Robin  Goodfellow.  —  FLETCHER. 

1.  I  am  somewhat  of  an  antiquity-hunter  and  am  fond 
of  exploring  London  in  quest  of  the  relics  of  old  times.     These 
are  principally  to  be  found  in  the  depths  of  the  city,  swallowed 
up  and  almost  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  brick  and  mortar ;  but 
deriving  poetical  and  romantic  interest  from  the  common 
place  prosaic  world  around  them.     I  was  struck  with  an  in 
stance  of  the  kind  in  the  course  of  a  recent  summer  ramble 
into  the  city ;  for  the  city  is  only  to  be  explored  to  advantage 
in  summer  time,  when  free  from  the  smoke  and  fog,  and  rain 
and  mud  of  winter.     I  had  been  buffeting  for  some  time 
against  the  current  of  population  setting  through  Fleet  Street. 
The  warm  weather  had  unstrung  my  nerves,  and  made  me 
sensitive  to  every  jar  and  jostle  and  discordant  sound.     The 
flesh  was  weary,  the  spirit  faint,  and  I  was  getting  out  of 
humor  with  the  bustling  busy  throng  through  which  I  had 
to  struggle,  when  in  a  fit  of  desperation  I  tore  my  way  through 
the  crowd,  plunged  into  a  by-lane,  and  after  passing  through 
several  obscure  nooks  and  angles,  emerged  into  a  quaint  and 
quiet  court  with  a  grass-plot  in  the  centre,  overhung  by  elms, 
and  kept  perpetually  fresh  and  green  by  a  fountain  with  its 
sparkling  jet  of  water.     A  student,  with  book  in  hand,  was 
seated  on  a  stone  bench,  partly  reading,  partly  meditating 
on  the  movements  of  two  or  three  trim  nursery  maids  with 
their  infant  charges. 

2.  I  was  like  an  Arab,  who  had  suddenly  come  upon  an 
oasis  amid  the  panting  sterility  of  the  desert.     By  degrees  the 
quiet  and  coolness  of  the  place  soothed  my  nerves  and  re 
freshed  my  spirit.     I  pursued  my  walk,  and  came,  hard  by, 
to  a  very  ancient  chapel,  with  a  low-browed  Saxon  portal  of 
massive   and  rich  architecture.     The   interior  was  circular 
and  lofty,   and  lighted  from  above.     Around  were  monu 
mental  tombs  of  ancient  date,  on  which  were  extended  the 
marble  effigies  of  warriors  in  armor.     Some  had  the  hands 
devoutly  crossed  upon  the  breast;   others  grasped  the  pom- 


114  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

mel  of  the  sword,  menancing  hostility  even  in  the  tomb !  — 
while  the  crossed  legs  of  several  indicated  soldiers  of  the 
Faith  who  had  been  on  crusades  to  the  Holy  Land.  I  was, 
in  fact,  in  the  chapel  of  the  Knights  Templars,  strangely 
situated  in  the  very  centre  of  sordid  traffic;  and  I  do  not 
know  a  more  impressive  lesson  for  the  man  of  the  world  than 
thus  suddenly  to  turn  aside  from  the  highway  of  busy  money- 
seeking  life,  and  sit  down  among  these 
shadowy  sepulchres,  where  all  is  twi 
light,  dust,  and  forgetfulness. 

3.  In  a  subsequent  tour  of  obser 
vation,  I  encountered  another  of  these 
relics  of  a  "foregone  world"  locked  up 
in  the  heart  of  the  city.  I  had  been 
wandering  for  some  time  through  dull 
monotonous  streets,  destitute  of  any 
thing  to  strike  the  eye  or  excite  the  im 
agination,  when  I  beheld  before  me  a 
Gothic  gateway  of  mouldering  antiq- 
KNIGHT  TEMPLAR  IN  uity.  It  opened  into  a  spacious  quad 
rangle  forming  the  court-yard  of  a 

stately  Gothic  pile,  the  portal  of  which  stood  invitingly  open. 
It  was  apparently  a  public  edifice,  and  as  I  was  antiquity 
hunting,  I  ventured  in,  though  with  dubious  steps.  Meeting 
no  one  either  to  oppose  or  rebuke  my  intrusion,  I  continued 
on  until  I  found  myself  in  a  great  hall,  with  a  lofty  arched 
roof  and  oaken  gallery,  all  of  Gothic  architecture.  At  one  end 
of  the  hall  was  an  enormous  fireplace,  with  wooden  settles 
on  each  side ;  at  the  other  end  was  a  raised  platform,  or  dais, 
the  seat  of  state,  above  which  was  the  portrait  of  a  man  in 
antique  garb,  with  a  long  robe,  a  ruff,  and  a  venerable  gray 
beard. 

4.  The  whole  establishment  had  an  air  of  monastic  quiet 
and  seclusion,  and  what  gave  it  a  mysterious  charm  was, 
that  I  had  not  met  with  a  human  being  since  I  had  passed 
the  threshold.  Encouraged  by  this  loneliness,  I  seated  my 
self  in  a  recess  of  a  large  bow-window,  which  admitted  a  broad 
flood  of  yellow  sunshine,  checkered  here  and  there  by  tints 


LONDON   ANTIQUES 


115 


from  panes  of  colored  glass ;  while  an  open  casement  let  in  the 
soft  summer  air.  Here,  leaning  my  head  on  my  hand,  and 
my  arm  on  an  old  oaken  table,  I  indulged  in  a  sort  of  reverie 
about  what  might  have  been  the  ancient  uses  of  this  edifice. 
It  had  evidently  been  of  monastic  origin;  perhaps  one  of 
those  collegiate  establishments  built  of  yore  for  the  promotion 
of  learning,  where  the  patient  monk,  in  the  ample  solitude 
of  the  cloister,  added 
page  to  page  and 
volume  to  volume, 
emulating  in  the  pro 
ductions  of  his  brain 
the  magnitude  of  the 
pile  he  inhabited. 

5.  As  I  was  seated 

in  this  musing  mood,  -^=- 
a  small  panelled  door 
in  an  arch  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  hall 
was  opened,  and  a 
number  of  gray- 
headed  old  men,  clad 

in  long  black  cloaks,  came  forth  one  by  one:  proceeding 
in  that  manner  through  the  hall,  without  uttering  a  word, 
each  turning  a  pale  face  on  me  as  he  passed,  and  disap 
pearing  through  a  door  at  the  lower  end. 

6.  I  was  singularly  struck  with  their  appearance;  their 
black  cloaks  and  antiquated  air  comported  with  the  style 
of  this  most  venerable  and  mysterious  pile.     It  was  as  if 
the  ghosts  of  the  departed  years,  about  which  I  had  been 
musing,  were  passing  in  review  before  me.     Pleasing  myself 
with  such  fancies,  I  set  out,  in  the  spirit  of  romance,  to  explore 
what  I  pictured  to  myself  a  realm  of  shadows,  existing  in  the 
very  centre  of  substantial  realities. 

7.  My  ramble  led  me  through  a  labyrinth  of  interior  courts, 
and  corridors,  and  dilapidated  cloisters,  for  the  main  edifice 
had  many  additions  and  dependencies,  built  at  various  times 
and  in  various  styles;  in  one  open  space  a  number  of  boys, 


TEMPLE  CHURCH  FROM  THE  SOUTH 


116 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


who  evidently  belonged  to  the  establishment,  were  at  their 
sports;  but  everywhere  I  observed  those  mysterious  old 
gray  men  in  black  mantles,  sometimes  sauntering  alone,  some 
times  conversing 
in  groups :  they 
appeared  to  be  the 
pervading  genii  of 
the  place.  I  now 
called  to  mind 
what  I  had  read 
of  certain  colleges 
in  old  times,  where 
judicial  astrology, 
geomancy,  necro 
mancy,  and  other 


WASH  HOUSE  COURT,  CHARTERHOUSE 


forbidden  and 
magical  sciences 
were  taught.  Was  this  an  establishment  of  the  kind,  and  were 
these  black-cloaked  old  men  really  professors  of  the  black  art  ? 

8.  These  surmises  were  passing  through  my  mind  as  my 
eye  glanced  into  a  chamber,  hung  round  with  all  kinds  of 
strange  and  uncouth  objects :  implements  of  savage  warfare ; 
strange  idols  and  stuffed  alligators;    bottled  serpents  and 
monsters  decorated  the  mantel-piece;    while  on  the  high 
tester  of  an  old-fashioned  bedstead  grinned  a  human  skull, 
flanked  on  each  side  by  a  dried  cat. 

9.  I   approached  to   regard  more   narrowly  this  mystic 
chamber,  which  seemed  a  fitting  laboratory  for  a  necromancer, 
when  I  was  startled  at  beholding  a  human  countenance  staring 
at  me  from  a  dusky  corner.     It  was  that  of  a  small,  shrivelled 
old  man,  with  thin  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  gray  wiry  pro 
jecting  eyebrows.     I  at  first  doubted  whether  it  were  not  a 
mummy  curiously  preserved,  but  it  moved,  and  I  saw  that 
it  was  alive.     It  was  another  of  these  black-cloaked  old  men, 
and,  as  I  regarded  his  quaint  physiognomy,  his  obsolete  garb, 
and  the  hideous  and  sinister  objects  by  which  he  was  sur 
rounded,  I  began  to  persuade  myself  that  I  had  come  upon 
the  archmago  who  ruled  over  this  magical  fraternity. 


LONDON   ANTIQUES 


117 


10.  Seeing  me  pausing  before  the  door,  he  rose  and  invited 
me  to  enter.  I  obeyed,  with  singular  hardihood,  for  how  did 
I  know  whether  a  wave  of  his  wand  might  not  metamorphose 


CHARTERHOUSE  FROM  THE  PLAY  GROUND 

me  into  some  strange  monster,  or  conjure  me  into  one  of  the 
bottles  on  his  mantel-piece?  He  proved,  however,  to  be 
anything  but  a  conjurer,  and  his  simple  garrulity  soon  dis 
pelled  all  the  magic  and  mystery  with  which  I  had  enveloped 
this  antiquated  pile  and  its  no  less  antiquated  inhabitants. 

11.  It  appeared  that  I  had  made  my  way  into  the  centre  of 
an  ancient  asylum  for  superannuated  tradesmen  and  decayed 
householders,  with  which  was  connected  a  school  for  a  limited 
number  of  boys.     It  was  founded  upwards  of  two  centuries 
since  on  an  old  monastic  establishment,  and  retained  some 
what  of  the  conventual  air  and  character.     The  shadowy  line 
of  old  men  in  black  mantles  who  had  passed  before  me  in  the 
hall,  and  whom  I  had  elevated  into  magi,  turned  out  to  be  the 
pensioners  returning  from  morning  service  in  the  chapel. 

12.  John  Hallum,  the  little  collector  of  curiosities,  whom 


118  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

I  had  made  the  arch  magician,  had  been  for  six  years  a  resi 
dent  of  the  place,  and  had  decorated  this  final  nestling-place 
of  his  old  age  with  relics  and  rarities  picked  up  in  the  course 
of  his  life.  According  to  his  own  account  he  had  been  some 
what  of  a  traveller;  having  been  once  in  France,  and  very 
near  making  a  visit  to  Holland.  He  regretted  not  having 
visited  the  latter  country,  "  as  then  he  might  have  said  he  had 
been  there."  He  was  evidently  a  traveller  of  the  simplest 
kind. 

13.  He  was  aristocratical  too  in  his  notions ;  keeping  aloof , 
as  I  found,  from  the  ordinary  run  of  pensioners.     His  chief 
associates  were  a  blind  man  who  spoke  Latin  and  Greek,  of 
both  which  languages  Hallum  was  profoundly  ignorant,  and  a 
broken-down  gentleman  who  had  run  through  a  fortune  of 
forty  thousand  pounds  left  him  by  his  father,  and  ten  thou 
sand  pounds,  the  marriage  portion  of  his  wife.     Little  Hal 
lum  seemed  to  consider  it  an  indubitable  sign  of  gentle  blood 
as  well  as  of  lofty  spirit  to  be  able  to  squander  such  enormous 
sums. 

14.  P.  S.    The   picturesque   remnant   of   old   times   into 
which  I  have  thus  beguiled  the  reader  is  what  is  called  the 
Charterhouse,  originally  the  Chartreuse.     It  was  founded  in 
1611,  on  the  remains  of  an  ancient  convent,  by  Sir  Thomas 
Sutton,  being  one  of  those  noble  charities  set  on  foot  by  in 
dividual  munificence,  and  kept  up  with  the  quaintness  and 
sanctity  of  ancient  times  amidst  the  modern  changes  and 
innovations  of  London.     Here  eighty  broken-down  men,  wrho 
had  seen  better  days,  are  provided,  in  their  old  age,  with  food, 
clothing,  fuel,  and  a  yearly  allowance  for  private  expenses. 
They  dine  together  as  did  the  monks  of  old,  in  the  hall  which 
had  been  the  refectory  of  the  original  convent.     Attached  to 
the  establishment  is  a  school  for  forty-four  boys. 

15.  Stow,  whose  work  I  have  consulted  on  the  subject, 
speaking  of  the  obligations  of  the  gray-headed  pensioners, 
says :  "They  are  not  to  intermeddle  with  any  business  touch 
ing  the  affairs  of  the  hospital,  but  to  attend  only  to  the  service 
of  God,  and  take  thankfully  what  is  provided  for  them,  with- 


LONDON    ANTIQUES 


119 


out  muttering,  murmuring,  or  grudging.  None  to  wear 
weapon,  long  hair,  colored  boots,  spurs  or  colored  shoes, 
feathers  in  their  hats,  or  any  ruffian  like  or  unseemly  apparel, 


THE  GREAT  HALL,  CHARTERHOUSE 

but  such  as  becomes  hospital  men  to  wear."  "And  in 
truth,"  adds  Stow,  "happy are  they  that  are  so  taken  from  the 
cares  and  sorrows  of  the  world,  and  fixed  in  so  good  a  place 
as  these  old  men  are;  having  nothing  to  care  for,  but  the 
good  of  their  souls,  to  serve  God  and  to  live  in  brotherly  love." 


16.  For  the  amusement  of  such  as  have  been  interested  by 
the  preceding  sketch,  taken  down  from  my  own  observation, 
and  who  may  wish  to  know  a  little  more  about  the  mysteries 
of  London,  I  subjoin  a  modicum  of  local  history,  put  into  my 


120  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

hands  by  an  odd-looking  old  gentleman  in  a  small  brown 
wig  and  a  snuff-colored  coat,  with  whom  I  became  acquainted 
shortly  after  my  visit  to  the  Charterhouse.  I  confess  I  was 
a  little  dubious  at  first,  whether  it  was  not  one  of  those  apoc 
ryphal  tales  often  passed  off  upon  inquiring  travellers  like 
myself;  and  which  have  brought  our  general  character  for 
veracity  into  such  unmerited  reproach.  On  making  proper 
inquiries,  however,  I  have  received  the  most  satisfactory  as 
surances  of  the  author's  probity;  and,  indeed,  have  been  told 
that  he  is  actually  engaged  in  a  full  and  particular  account 
of  the  very  interesting  region  in  which  he  resides;  of  which 
the  following  may  be  considered  merely  as  a  foretaste. 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,   EASTCHEAP 
A  SHAKESPERIAN  RESEARCH 

[COMMENT.  —  The  original  Boar's  Head  Tavern  in  Eastcheap 
"stood  between  Small  Alley  and  St.  Michael's  Lane,"  and  at 
the  rear  looked  out  upon  the  churchyard  of  St.  Michael's.  At 
the  time  of  Shakespeare  it  had  long  been  a  famous  hostelry,  but 
it  is  impossible  to  say  when  it  was  built.  The  earliest  mention 
of  it  showrs  that  it  was  frequented  in  the  reign  of  Richard  II, 
and  Stow  refers  to  a  riot  there,  in  1410,  in  which  two  sons  of 
Henry  IV  were  mixed  up.  In  the  fire  of  1666  this  inn  was 
burned,  and  two  years  later  another  Boar's  Head  Tavern  was 
erected  on  the  same  site.  The  sign  of  the  old  inn,  a  boar's 
head  surrounded  by  tusks,  was  subsequently  found  in  a  heap  of 
debris  supposed  to  have  been  gathered  from  the  ruins  after  the 
fire;  it  was  a  small  carving  in  oak,  four  and  one-half  inches  in 
diameter,  and  was  identified  by  the  date,  1568,  and  by  initials 
which  correspond  with  those  of  the  landlord  of  the  Boar's 
Head  in  that  year.  For  the  new  tavern,  a  boar's  head  was 
carved  in  stone  and  set  in  the  wall  between  the  first  floor  win 
dows,  where  it  remained  until  the  demolition  of  the  building 
in  1831,  to  make  way  for  the  new  approaches  to  London  Bridge. 
This  interesting  block  of  stone  has  been  preserved  and  placed 
in  Guildhall  Museum.  At  the  present  time  the  site  of  the  old 
tavern  is  indicated  by  the  statue  of  William  IV,  which  stands 
in  the  space  cleared  by  the  removal  of  the  building  formerly 
called  Boar's  Head  Tavern  and  of  its  neighbors. 

Little  is  known  of  the  character  of  this  hostelry  in  the  time 
of  Prince  Hal,  but  in  Shakespeare's  day  Eastcheap  was  a  region 
of  markets  and  taverns,  frequented  by  roystering  fellows. 
The  Boar's  Head  was  one  of  four  inns  that  stood  between  St. 
Michael's  Lane  and  a  near-by  alley.  To  the  north  of  it  was 
grass  market;  fish  and  meat  markets  lay  to  the  south  and  east 
of  the  place,  and  commodities  from  the  wharves  of  Billingsgate 
found  an  open  way  thither.  This  tavern  was  especially  popu 
lar,  and  Shakespeare,  who  was  fond  of  representing  familiar 
scenes  in  his  plays,  chose  it  for  the  revels  of  Falstaff  and  the 
prince.  The  character  of  the  prince  is  borrowed  from  old 
chronicles  of  English  history,  but  his  real  companions  had  been 
forgotten  long  ere  Shakespeare  wrote,  and  he  created  others  in 
the  likeness  of  such  tavern  folk  as  beguiled  his  own  idle  hours. 

121 


122  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

The  play,  "Henry  IV,"  represents  places,  scenes,  and  charac 
ters  familiar  to  its  author.  These  Irving  strove  to  recall  as 
Shakespeare  saw  them.  As  material  for  this  essay  he  had,  first, 
Shakespeare's  play,  of  which  he  was  very  fond;  secondly,  the 
ancient  buildings  and  city  streets  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
old  tavern;  and, thirdly, the  usual  sources  of  antiquarian  lore, 
old  books  full  of  anecdote  and  description,  relics,  maps, 
museums,  etc.  Full  of  knowledge  from  reading  and  study,  he 
wandered  in  the  old  places  striving  to  realize  the  life  of  a  past 
age,  until  his  imagination  took  fire,  and  they  were  peopled  once 
more  with  figures  bearing  familiar  names  and  enacting  scenes 
as  real  as  the  remembered  sports  of  childhood.  This  experi 
ence  our  author  narrated  in  his  essay,  hoping  thereby  to  share 
with  us  the  sense  of  reality  which  had  come  to  him  when  he 
stood  in  the  places  where  Shakespeare  had  once  been.  D.] 

"A  tavern  is  the  rendezvous,  the  exchange,  the  staple  of  good 
fellows.  I  have  heard  my  great-grandfather  tell,  how  his  great- 
great-grandfather  should  say,  that  it  was  an  old  proverb  when  his 
great-grandfather  was  a  child,  that  'it  was  a  good  wind  that  blew 
a  man  to  the  wine.'  "  — MOTHER  BOMBIE. 

1.  It  is  a  pious  custom,  in  some  Catholic  countries,  to 
honor  the  memory  of  saints  by  votive  lights  burnt  before 
their  pictures.     The  popularity  of  a  saint,  therefore,  may  be 
known  by  the  number  of  these  offerings.     One,  perhaps,  is 
left  to  moulder  in  the  darkness  of  his  little  chapel ;   another 
may  have  a  solitary  lamp  to  throw  its  blinking  Tays  athwart 
his  effigy;    while  the  whole  blaze  of  adoration  is  lavished  at 
the  shrine  of  some  beatified  father  of  renown.     The  wealthy 
devotee  brings  his  huge  luminary  of  wax;   the  eager  zealot 
his  seven-branched   candlestick;    and  even  the   mendicant 
pilgrim  is  by  no  means  satisfied  that  sufficient  light  is  thrown 
upon   the    deceased,  unless  he  hangs  up  his  little  lamp  of 
smoking  oil.     The  consequence  is,  that  in  the  eagerness  to 
enlighten,  they  are  often  apt  to  obscure ;  and  I  have  occasion 
ally  seen  an  unlucky  saint  almost  smoked  out  of  countenance 
by  the  officiousness  of  his  followers. 

2.  In  like  manner  has  it  fared  with  the  immortal  Shakes 
peare.     Every  writer  considers  it  his  bounden  duty  to  light 
up  some  portion  of  his  character  or  works,  and  to  rescue  some 
merit  from  oblivion.     The  commentator,  opulent  in  words. 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP   123 


produces  vast  tomes  of  dissertations;  the  common  herd  of 
editors  send  up  mists  of  obscurity  from  their  notes  at  the 
bottom  of  each  page;  and  every  casual  scribbler  brings 
his  farthing  rushlight  of  eulogy  or  research,  to  swell  the  cloud- 
of  incense  and  of  smoke. 

3.  As  I  honor  all  established  usages  of  my  brethren  of  the  / 
quill,  I  thought  it  but  proper  to  contribute  my  mite  of  homage 
to  the  memory  of  the  illustrious  bard.     I  was  for  some  time, 
however,  sorely  puzzled  in  what  way  I  should  discharge  this 
duty.     I  found  myself  anticipated  in  every  attempt  at  a  new 
reading;    every  doubtful  line  had  been  explained  a  dozen 
different  ways,  and  perplexed  beyond  the  reach  of  elucidation ; 
and    as    to    fine    passages, 

they  had  all  been  amply 
praised  by  previous  admir 
ers  ;  nay,  so  completely  had 
the  bard,  of  late,  been  over- 
larded  with  panegyric  by  a 
great  German  critic,  that 
it  was  difficult  now  to  find 
even  a  fault  that  had  not 
been  argued  into  a  beauty. 

4.  In  this  perplexity,  I 
was   one   morning  turning 
over  his  pages,  when  I  casu 
ally  opened  upon  the  comic 
scenes  of  "Henry  IV,"  and 
was,    in  a   moment,   com 
pletely  lost  in  the  madcap 
revelry  of  the  Boar's  Head 
Tavern.      So    vividly   and 
naturally  are   these  scenes 


and 


YE  OLDE  BOAK'S  HEAD  TAVERN 
From  Callow's  "London  Taverns' 


of  humor  depicted, 
with  such  force  and  con 
sistency  are  the  characters  sustained,  that  they  become 
mingled  up  in  the  mind  with  the  facts  and  personages  of  real 
life.  To  few  readers  does  it  occur,  that  these  are  all  ideal 
creations  of  a  poet's  brain,  and  that,  in  sober  truth,  no  such 


124  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

knot  of  merry  roisters  ever  enlivened  the  dull  neighborhood 
of  Eastcheap. 

5.  For  my  part  I  love  to  give  myself  up  to  the  illusions  of 
poetry.     A  hero  of  fiction  that  never  existed  is  just  as  valuable 
to  me  as  a  hero  of  history  that  existed  a  thousand  years  since  : 
and,  if  I  may  be  excused  such  an  insensibility  to  the  common 
ties  of  human  nature,  I  would  not  give  up  fat  Jack  for  half 
the  great  men  of  ancient  chronicle.     What  have  the  heroes  of 
yore  done  for  me,  or  men  like  me?      They  have  conquered 
countries  of  which  I  do  not  enjoy  an  acre ;  or  they  have  gained 
laurels  of  which  I  do  not  inherit  a  leaf ;  or  they  have  furnished 
examples  of  hair-brained  prowess,  which  I  have  neither  the 
opportunity  nor  the  inclination  to  follow.     But,  old  Jack 
Falstaff !  — kind   Jack   Falstaff !  —  sweet   Jack   Falstaff!-- 
has  enlarged  the  boundaries  of   human  enjoyment ;    he  has 
added  vast  regions  of  wit  and  good-humor,  in  which  the  poor 
est  man  may  revel;   and  has  bequeathed  a  never-failing  in 
heritance  of  jolly  laughter,  to  make  mankind  merrier  and 
better  to  the  latest  posterity. 

6.  A  thought  suddenly  struck  me :    "  I  will  make  a  pil 
grimage  to  Eastcheap,"  said  I,  closing  the  book,  "and  see 
if  the  old  Boar's  Head  Tavern  still  exists.     Who  knows  but 
I  may  light  upon  some  legendary  traces  of  Dame  Quickly 
and  her  guests ;  at  any  rate,  there  will  be  a  kindred  pleasure, 
in  treading  the  halls  once  vocal  with  their  mirth,  to  that  the 
toper  enjoys  in  smelling  to  the  empty  cask  once  filled  with 
generous  wine." 

7.  The  resolution  was  no  sooner  formed  than  put  in  exe 
cution.     I   forbear  to  treat  of  the  various  adventures  and 
wonders  I  encountered  in  my  travels ;  of  the  haunted  regions 
of  Cock  Lane,  of  the  faded  glories  of  Little  Britain,  and  the 
parts  adjacent;  what  perils  I  ran  in  Cateaton  Street  and  old 
Jewry ;  of  the  renowned  Guildhall  and  its  two  stunted  giants, 
the  pride  and  wonder  of  the  city,  and  the  terror  of  all  un 
lucky  urchins ;   and  how  I  visited  London  Stone,  and  struck 
my  staff  upon  it,  in  imitation  of  that  arch-rebel,  Jack  Cade. 

8.  Let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  I  at  length  arrived  in  merry 
Eastcheap,  that   ancient  region  of    wit  and  wassail,  where 


BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  EASTCHEAP 


126  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

the  very  names  of  the  streets  relished  of  good  cheer, 
as  Pudding  Lane  bears  testimony  even  at  the  present 
day.  For  Eastcheap,  says  old  Stowe,  "was  always  famous 
for  its  convivial  doings.  The  cookes  cried  hot  ribbes  of  beef 
roasted,  pies  well  baked,  and  other  victuals :  there  was  clat 
tering  of  pewter  pots,  harpe,  pipe,  and  sawtrie."  Alas !  how 
sadly  is  the  scene  changed  since  the  roaring  days  of  Falstaff 
and  old  Stowe !  The  madcap  roister  has  given  place  to  the 
plodding  tradesman ;  the  clattering  of  pots  and  the  sound  of 
"harpe  and  sawtrie,"  to  the  din  of  carts  and  the  accursed 
dinging  of  the  dustman's  bell;  and  no  song  is  heard  save, 
haply,  the  strain  of  some  siren  from  Billingsgate  chanting 
the  eulogy  of  deceased  mackerel. 

9.  I  sought,  in  vain,  for  the  ancient  abode  of  Dame  Quickly. 
The  only  relic  of  it  is  a  boar's  head,  carved  in  relief  in  stone, 
which  formerly  served  as  the  sign,  but  at  present  is  built  into 
the  parting  line  of  two  houses,  which  stand  on  the  site  of  the 
renowned  old  tavern. 

10.  For  the  history  of  this  little  abode  of  good  fellowship,  I 
was  referred  to  a  tallow-chandler's  widow,  opposite,  who  had 
been  born  and  brought  up  on  the  spot,  and  was  looked  up  to  as 
the  indisputable  chronicler  of  the  neighborhood.     I  found 
her  seated  in  a  little  back  parlor,  the  window  of  which  looked 
out  upon  a  yard  about  eight  feet  square,  laid  out  as  a  flower- 
garden  ;  while  a  glass  door  opposite  afforded  a  distant  peep 
of  the  street,  through  a  vista  of  soap  and  tallow  candles :  the 
two  views,  which  comprised,  in  all  probability,  her  prospects 
in  life,  and  the  little  world  in  which  she  had  lived,  and  moved, 
and  had  her  being,  for  the  better  part  of  a  century. 

11.  To  be  versed  in  the  history  of  Eastcheap,  great  and 
little,  from  London  Stone  even  unto  the  Monument,  was 
doubtless,  in  her  opinion,  to  be  acquainted  with  the  history 
of  the  universe.   Yet,  with  all  this,  she  possessed  the  simplicity 
of  true  wisdom,  and  that  liberal  communicative  disposition 
which  I  have  generally  remarked  in  intelligent  old  ladies, 
knowing  in  the  concerns  of  their  neighborhood. 

12.  Her  information,  however,  did  not  extend  far  back 
into  antiquity.     She  could  throw  no  light  upon  the  history  of 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP    127 

the  Boar's  Head,  from  the  time  that  Dame  Quickly  espoused 
the  valiant  Pistol,  until  the  great  fire  of  London,  when  it  was 
unfortunately  burnt  down.  It  was  soon  rebuilt,  and  con 
tinued  to  flourish  under  the  old  name  and  sign,  until  a  dying 
landlord,  struck  with  remorse  for  double  scores,  bad  measures, 
and  other  iniquities,  which  are  incident  to  the  sinful  race  of 
publicans,  endeavored  to  make  his  peace  with  heaven,  by 
bequeathing  the  tavern  to  St.  Michael's  Church,  Crooked 
Lane,  towards  the  supporting  of  a  chaplain.  For  some  time 
the  vestry  meetings  were  regularly  held  there;  but  it  was 
observed  that  the  old  Boar  never  held  up  his  head  under 
church  government.  He  gradually  declined,  and  finally  gave 
his  last  gasp  about  thirty  years  since.  The  tavern  was  then 
turned  into  shops ;  but  she  informed  me  that  a  picture  of  it 
was  still  preserved  in  St.  Michael's 
Church,  which  stood  just  in  the  rear. 
To  get  a  sight  of  this  picture  was  now 
my  determination ;  so,  having  informed 
myself  of  the  abode  of  the  sexton,  I 
took  my  leave  of  the  venerable  chroni 
cler  of  Eastcheap,  my  visit  having 
doubtless  raised  greatly  her  opinion  of  s7GN  OF  THE 
her  legendary  lore,  and  furnished  an  im-  HEAD 

portant  incident  in  the  history  of  her  life. 

13.  It  cost  me  some  difficulty,  and  much  curious  inquiry, 
to  ferret  out  the  humble  hanger-on  to  the  church.     I  had  to 
explore  Crooked  Lane  and  divers  little  alleys,  and  elbows,  and 
dark  passages,  with  which  this  old  city  is  perforated  like  an 
ancient  cheese,  or  a  worm-eaten  chest  of  drawers.     At  length 
I  traced  him  to  a  corner  of  a  small  court  surrounded  by  lofty 
houses,  where  the  inhabitants  enjoy  about  as  much  of  the 
face  of  heaven  as  a  community  of  frogs  at  the  bottom  of  a  well. 

14.  The  sexton  was  a  meek,  acquiescing  little  man  of  a 
bowing,  lowly  habit ;   yet  he  had  a  pleasant  twinkling  in  his 
eye,  and,  if  encouraged,  would  now  and  then  hazard  a  small 
pleasantry ;  such  as  a  man  of  his  low  estate  might  venture  to 
make  in  the  company  of  high  church-wardens,  and  other 
mighty  men  of  the  earth.     I  found  him  in  company  with  the 


128  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

deputy  organist,  seated  apart,  like  Milton's  angels,  dis 
coursing,  no  doubt,  on  high  doctrinal  points,  and  settling  the 
affairs  of  the  church  over  a  friendly  pot  of  ale,  —  for  the  lower 
classes  of  English  seldom  deliberate  on  any  weighty  matter 
without  the  assistance  of  a  cool  tankard  to  clear  their  under 
standings.  I  arrived  at  the  moment  when  they  had  finished 
their  ale  and  their  argument,  and  were  about  to  repair  to  the 
church  to  put  it  in  order ;  so  having  made  known  my  wishes, 
I  received  their  gracious  permission.to  accompany  them. 

15.  The  church  of  St.  Michael's,  Crooked  Lane,  standing  a 
short  distance  from  Billingsgate,  is  enriched  with  the  tombs 
of  many  fishmongers  of  renown ;  and  as  every  profession  has 
its  galaxy  of  glory,  and  its  constellation  of  great  men,  I  pre 
sume  the  monument  of  a  mighty  fishmonger  of  the  olden  time 
is  regarded  with  as  much  reverence  by  succeeding  generations 
of  the  craft,  as  poets  feel  on  contemplating  the  tomb  of  Virgil, 
or  soldiers  the  monument  of  a  Marlborough  or  Turenne. 

16.  I  cannot  but  turn  aside,  while  thus  speaking  of  il 
lustrious  men,  to  observe  that  St.  Michael's,  Crooked  Lane, 
contains  also  the  ashes  of  that  doughty  champion,  William 
Walworth,  knight,  who  so  manfully  clove  down  the  sturdy 
wight,  Wat  Tyler,  in  Smithfield ;  a  hero  worthy  of  honorable 
blazon,  as  almost  the  only  Lord  Mayor  on  record  famous  for 
deeds  of  arms :  —  the  sovereigns  of  Cockney  being  generally 
renowned  as  the  most  pacific  of  all  potentates.1 

1  The  following  was  the  ancient  inscription  on  the  monument  of 
this  worthy;  which,  unhappily,  was  destroyed  in  the  great  confla 
gration. 

"Hereunder  lyth  a  man  of  Fame, 
William  Walworth  callyd  by  name ; 
Fishmonger  he  was  in  lyfftime  here, 
And  twise  Lord  Maior,  as  in  books  appere. 
Who,  with  courage  stout  and  manly  myght 
Slew  Jack  Straw  in  Kyng  Richard's  sight. 
For  which  act  done,  and  trew  entent, 
The  Kyng  made  him  knyght  incontinent ; 
And  gave  him  armes,  as  here  you  see, 
To  declare  his  fact  and  chivaldrie. 
He  left  this  lyff  the  yere  of  our  God 
Thirteen  hundred  fourscore  and  three  odd." 

An  error  in  the  foregoing  inscription  has  been  corrected  by  the 
venerable  Stowe.  "Whereas,"  saith  he,  "it  hath  been  far  spread 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP    129 

17.  Adjoining  the  church,  in  a  small  cemetery,  immediately 
under  the  back  window  of  what  was  once  the  Boar's  Head, 
stands  the  tombstone  of  Robert  Preston,  whilom  drawer  at  the 
tavern.     It  is  now  nearly  a  century  since  this  trusty  drawer 
of  good  liquor  closed  his  bustling  career,  and  was  thus  quietly 
deposited  within  call  of  his  customers.     As  I  was  clearing 
away  the  weeds  from  his  epitaph,  the  little  sexton  drew  me 
on  one  side  with  a  mysterious  air,  and  informed  me  in  a  low 
voice,  that  once  upon  a  time,  on  a  dark  wintry  night,  when 
the  wind  was  unruly,  howling  and  whistling,  banging  about 
doors  and  windows,  and  twirling  weathercocks,  so  that  the 
living  were  frightened  out  of  their  beds,  and  even  the  dead 
could  not  sleep  quietly  in  their  graves,  the  ghost  of  honest 
Preston,  which  happened  to  be  airing  itself  in  the  churchyard, 
was  attracted  by  the  well-known  call  of  "waiter7'  from  the 
Boar's  Head,  and  made  its  sudden  appearance  in  the  midst 
of  a  roaring  club,  just  as  the  parish  clerk  was  singing  a  stave 
from  the  "mirre  garland  of  Captain  Death";  to  the  discom 
fiture  of  sundry  trainband  captains,  and  the  conversion  of  an 
infidel  attorney,  who  became  a  zealous  Christian  on  the  spot, 
and  was  never  known  to  twist  the  truth  afterwards,  except 
in  the  way  of  business. 

18.  I  beg  it  may  be  remembered,  that  I  do  not  pledge  my 
self  for  the  authenticity  of  this  anecdote,  though  it  is  well 
known  that  the  churchyards  and  by-corners  of  this  old  me 
tropolis  are  very  much  infested  with  perturbed  spirits ;  and 
every  one  must  have  heard  of  the  Cock  Lane  ghost  and  the 
apparition  that  guards  the  regalia  in  the  Tower,  which  has 
frightened  so  many  bold  sentinels  almost  out  of  their  wits. 

19.  Be  all  this  as  it  may,  this  Robert  Preston  seems  to  have 
been  a  worthy  successor  to  the  nimble-tongued  Francis,  who 
attended  upon  the  revels  of  Prince  Hal ;  to  have  been  equally 

abroad  by  vulgar  opinion,  that  the  rebel  smitten  down  so  manfully 
by  Sir  William  Walworth,  the  then  worthy  Lord  Maior,  was  named 
Jack  Straw,  and  not  Wat  Tyler,  I  thought  good  to  reconcile  this  rash- 
conceived  doubt  by  such  testimony  as  I  find  in  ancient  and  good  rec 
ords.  The  principal  leaders,  or  captains,  of  the  commons,  were  Wat 
Tyler,  as  the  first  man;  the  second  was  John,  or  Jack,  Straw,"  etc., 
etc.  —  STOWE'S  LONDON. 


130  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

prompt  with  his  "anon,  anon,  sir;"  and  to  have  transcended 
his  predecessor  in  honesty;  for  Falstaff,  the  veracity  of 
whose  -taste  no  man  will  venture  to  impeach,  flatly  accuses 
Francis  of  putting  lime  in  his  sack ;  whereas  honest  Preston's 
epitaph  lauds  him  for  the  sobriety  of  his  conduct,  the  sound 
ness  of  his  wine,  and  the  fairness  of  his  measure.1  The 
worthy  dignitaries  of  the  church,  however,  did  not  appear 
much  captivated  by  the  sober  virtues  of  the  tapster;  the 
deputy  organist,  who  had  a  moist  look  out  of  the  eye,  made 
some  shrewd  remark  on  the  abstemiousness  of  a  man  brought 
up  among  full  hogsheads ;  and  the  little  sexton  corroborated 
his  opinion  by  a  significant  wink  and  a  dubious  shake  of  the 
head. 

20.  Thus  far  my  researches,  though  they  threw  much  light 
on  the  history  of  tapsters,  fishmongers,  and  Lord  Mayors,  yet 
disappointed  me  in  the  great  object  of  my  quest,  the  picture 
of  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern.     No  such  painting  was  to  be 
found  in  the  church  of  St.  Michael.     " Marry  and  amen!" 
said  I,  "here  endeth  my  research!"    So  I  was  giving  the 
matter  up,  with  the  air  of  a  baffled  antiquary,  when  my  friend 
the  sexton,  perceiving  me  to  be  curious  in  everything  relative 
to  the  old  tavern,  offered  to  show  me  the  choice  vessels  of  the 
vestry,  which  had  been  handed  down  from  remote  times, 
when  the  parish  meetings  were  held  at  the  Boar's  Head. 
These  were  deposited  in  the  parish  club-room,  which  had  been 
transferred,  on  the  decline  of  the  ancient  establishment,  to  a 
tavern  in  the  neighborhood. 

21.  A  few  steps  brought  us  to  the  house,  which  stands 

1  As  this  inscription  is  rife  with  excellent  morality,  I  transcribe  it 
for  the  admonition  of  delinquent  tapsters.  It  is,  no  doubt,  the  pro 
duction  of  some  choice  spirit,  who  once  frequented  the  Boar's  Head. 

"Bacchus,  to  give  the  toping  world  surprise, 
Produced  one  sober  son,  and  here  he  lies. 
Though  rear'd  among  full  hogsheads,  he  defy'd 
The  charms  of  wine,  and  every  one  beside. 
O  reader,  if  to  justice  thou'rt  inclined, 
Keep  honest  Preston  daily  in  thy  mind. 
He  drew  good  wine,  took  care  to  fill  his  pots, 
Had  sundry  virtues  that  excused  his  faults. 
You  that  on  Bacchus  have  the  like  dependance, 
Pray  copy  Bob  in  measure  and  attendance." 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP    131 

No.  12  Miles  Lane,  bearing  the  title  of  The  Mason's  Arms, 
and  is  kept  by  Master  Edward  Honeyball,  the  ''bully  rock" 
of  the  establishment.  It  is  one  of  those  little  taverns  which 
abound  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  form  the  centre  of  gossip 
and  intelligence  of  the  neighborhood.  We  entered  the  bar 
room,  \vhich  was  narrow  and  darkling;  for  in  these  close 
lanes  but  a  few  rays  of  reflected  light  are  enabled  to  struggle 
down  to  the  inhabitants,  whose  broad  day  is  at  best  but  a 
tolerable  twilight.  The  room  was  partitioned  into  boxes, 
each  containing  a  table  spread  with  a  clean  white  cloth,  ready 
for  dinner.  This  showed  that  the  guests  were  of  the  good  old 
stamp,  and  divided  their  day  equally,  for  it  was  but  just  one 
o'clock.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  room  was  a  clear  coal  fire, 
before  which  a  breast  of  lamb  was  roasting.  A  row  of  bright 
brass  candlesticks  and  pewter  mugs  glistened  along  the 
mantel-piece,  and  an  old-fashioned  clock  ticked  in  one  corner. 
There  was  something  primitive  in  this  medley  of  kitchen, 
parlor,  and  hall  that  carried  me  back  to  earlier  times,  and 
pleased  me.  The  place,  indeed,  was  humble,  but  everything 
had  that  look  of  order  and  neatness  which  bespeaks  the  super 
intendence  of  a  notable  English  housewife.  A  group  of 
amphibious-looking  beings,  who  might  be  either  fishermen 
or  sailors,  were  regaling  themselves  in  one  of  the  boxes.  As 
I  was  a  visitor  of  rather  higher  pretensions,  I  was  ushered 
into  a  little  misshapen  backroom,  having  at  least  nine  corners. 
It  was  lighted  by  a  skylight,  furnished  with  antiquated 
leathern  chairs,  and  ornamented  with  the  portrait  of  a  fat 
pig.  It  was  evidently  appropriated  to  particular  customers, 
and  I  found  a  shabby  gentleman,  in  a  red  nose  and  oil-cloth 
hat,  seated  in  one  corner,  meditating  on  a  half-empty  pot  of 
porter. 

22.  The  old  sexton  had  taken  the  landlady  aside,  and  with 
an  air  of  profound  importance  imparted  to  her  my  errand. 
Dame  Honeyball  was  a  likely,  plump,  bustling  little  woman, 
and  no  bad  substitute  for  that  paragon  of  hostesses,  Dame 
Quickly.  She  seemed  delighted  with  an  opportunity  to 
oblige ;  and  hurrying  up-stairs  to  the  archives  of  her  house, 
where  the  precious  vessels  of  the  parish  club  were  deposited, 


132  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

she  returned,   smiling  and  courtesying,  with  them  in  her 
hands. 

23.  The  first  she  presented  me  was  a  japanned  iron  tobacco- 
box,  of  gigantic  size,  out  of  which,  I  was  told,  the  vestry 
had  smoked  at  their  stated  meetings,  since  time  immemorial ; 
and  which  was  never  suffered  to  be  profaned  by  vulgar  hands, 
or  used  on  common  occasions.     I  received  it  with  becoming 
reverence;    but  what  was  my  delight,  at  beholding  on  its 
cover  the  identical  painting  of  which  I  was  in  quest !     There 
was  displayed  the  outside  of  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  and 
before  the  door  was  to  be  seen  the  whole  convivial  group,  at 
table,  in  full  revel ;  pictured  with  that  wonderful  fidelity  and 
force,  with  which  the  portraits  of  renowned  generals  and 
commodores  are  illustrated  on  tobacco-boxes,  for  the  benefit  of 
posterity.     Lest,  however,  there  should  be  any  mistake,  the 
cunning  limner  had  warily  inscribed  the  names  of  Prince  Hal 
and  Falstaff  on  the  bottoms  of  their  chairs. 

24.  On  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  an  inscription,  nearly  ob 
literated,  recording  that  this  box  was  the  gift  of  Sir  Richard 
Gore,  for  the  use  of  the  vestry  meetings  at  the  Boar's  Head 
Tavern,  and  that  it  was  "repaired  and  beautified  by  his 
successor,    Mr.   John   Packard,    1767."     Such   is   a   faithful 
description  of  this  august  and  venerable  relic ;  and  I  question 
whether  the   learned   Scriblerius   contemplated  his   Roman 
shield,  or  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  the  long-sought 
Sangreal,  with  more  exultation. 

25.  While  I  was  meditating  on  it  with  enraptured  gaze, 
Dame  Honeyball,  who  was  highly  gratified  by  the  interest 
it  excited,  put  in  my  bands  a  drinking-cup  or  goblet,  which 
also  belonged  to  the  vestry,  and  was  descended  from  the  old 
Boar's  Head.     It  bore  the  inscription  of  having  been  the 
gift  of  Francis  Wythers,  knight,  and  was  held,  she  told  me,  in 
exceeding    great    value,    being   considered    very    "antyke." 
This  last  opinion  was  strengthened  by  the  shabby  gentleman 
in  the  red  nose  and  oil-cloth  hat,  and  whom  I  strongly  sus 
pected  of  being  a  lineal  descendant  from  the  valiant  Bardolph. 
He  suddenly  roused  from  his  meditation  on  the  pot  of  porter, 
and,    casting   a   knowing    look   at    the    goblet,   exclaimed, 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP    133 


"Ay,  ay!  the  head  don't  ache  now  that  made  that  there 
article!" 

26.  The  great  importance  attached  to  this  memento  of 
ancient  revelry  by  modern  church-wardens  at  first  puzzled 
me;      but     there     is     nothing 

sharpens  the  apprehension  so 
much  as  antiquarian  research; 
for  I  immediately  perceived 
that  this  could  be  no  other 
than  the  identical  "parcel-gilt 
goblet"  on  which  Falstaff  made 
his  loving  but  faithless  vow  to 
Dame  Quickly;  and  which 
would,  of  course,  be  treasured 
up  with  care  among  the  regalia 
of  her  domains,  as  a  testimony 
of  that  solemn  contract.1 

27.  Mine     hostess,      indeed, 
gave  me  a  long  history  how  the 
goblet  had  been  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation. 
She  also  entertained  me   with 
many     particulars     concerning 
the     worthy     vestrymen     who 
have    seated    themselves    thus 
quietly    on    the    stools   of    the 

ancient  roisters  of  Eastcheap,  and,  like  so  many  commen 
tators,  utter  clouds  of  smoke  in  honor  of  Shakspeare. 
These  I  forbear  to  relate,  lest  my  readers  should  not  be 
as  curious  in  these  matters  as  myself.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the 
neighbors,  one  and  all,  about  Eastcheap,  believe  that  Falstaff 
and  his  merry  crew  actually  lived  and  revelled  there.  Nay, 
there  are  several  legendary  anecdotes  concerning  him  still 

1  "Thou  didst  swear  to  me  upon  a  parcel-gilt  goblet,  sitting  in  my 
Dolphin  chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  on  Wednes 
day,  in  Whitsunweek,  when  the  prince  broke  thy  head  for  likening 
his  father  to  a  singing  man  at  Windsor ;  thou  didst  swear  to  me  then, 
as  I  was  washing  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and  make  me  my  lady, 
thy  wife.  Canst  thou  deny  it?  "  —  Henry  IV,  Part  2. 


FALSTAFF 

From  the  Gower  statue  at 
Stratford 


134  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

extant  among  the  oldest  frequenters  of  the  Mason's  Arms, 
which  they  give  as  transmitted  down  from  their  forefathers ; 
and  Mr.  M'Kash,  an  Irish  hair-dresser,  whose  shop  stands 
on  the  site  of  the  old  Boar's  Head,  has  several  dry  jokes 
of  Fat  Jack's,  not  laid  down  in  the  books,  with  which  he 
makes  his  customers  ready  to  die  of  laughter. 

28.  I  now  turned  to  my  friend  the  sexton  to  make  some 
further  inquiries,  but  I  found  him  sunk  in  pensive  meditation. 
His  head  had  declined  a  little  on  one  side ;  a  deep  sigh  heaved 
from  the  very  bottom  of  his  stomach;   and,  though  I  could 
not  see  a  tear  trembling  in  his  eye,  yet  a  moisture  was  evi 
dently  stealing  from  a  corner  of  his  mouth.     I  followed  the 
direction  of  his  eye  through  the  door  which  stood  open,  and 
found  it  fixed  wistfully  on  the  savory  breast  of  lamb,  roasting 
in  dripping  richness  before  the  fire. 

29.  I  now  called  to  mind  that,  in  the  eagerness  of  my  recon 
dite  investigation,  I  was  keeping  the  poor  man  from  his  dinner. 
My  bowels  yearned  with  sympathy,  and,  putting  in  his  hand 
a  small  token  of  my  gratitude   and  goodness,  I  departed, 
with  a  hearty  benediction  on  him,  Dame  Honeyball,  and  the 
Parish  Club  of  Crooked  Lane ; — not  forgetting  my  shabby  but 
sententious  friend  in  the  oil-cloth  hat  and  copper  nose. 

30.  Thus  have  I  given  a  "tedious  brief"  account  of  this 
interesting  research,  for  which,  if  it  prove  too  short  and  un 
satisfactory,  I  can  only  plead  my  inexperience  in  this  branch 
of  literature,  so  deservedly  popular  at  the  present  day.     I  am 
aware  that  a  more  skilful  illustrator  of  the  immortal  bard 
would  have  swelled  the  materials  I  have  touched  upon  to  a 
good   merchantable    bulk;     comprising   the    biographies    of 
William  Walworth,  Jack  Straw,  and  Robert  Preston;    some 
notice  of  the  eminent  fishmongers  of  St.  Michael's;   the  his 
tory  of  Eastcheap,  great  and  little;    private  anecdotes  of 
Dame  Honeyball,  and  her  pretty  daughter,  whom  I  have  not 
even  mentioned;    to  say  nothing  of  a  damsel  tending  the 
breast  of  lamb,  (and  whom,  by  the  way,  I  remarked  to  be  a 
comely  lass,  with  a  neat  foot  and  ankle ;)  —  the  whole  en 
livened  by  the  riots  of  Wat  Tyler,  and  illuminated  by  the 
great  fire  of  London. 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP    135 

31.  All  this  I  leave,  as  a  rich  mine,  to  be  worked  by  future 
commentators;  nor  do  I  despair  of  seeing  the  tobacco-box, 
and  the  "parcel-gilt  goblet,"  which  I  have  thus  brought  to 
light,  the  subjects  of  future  engravings,  and  almost  as  fruitful 
of  voluminous  dissertations  and  disputes  as  the  shield  of 
Achilles,  or  the  far-famed  Portland  vase. 


SIGN  OF  THE  BULL  AND  MOUTH  INN 
From  Callow's  "London  Taverns" 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  FROM  THE  DEAN'S  YARD 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

[COMMENT.  —  The  essay  on  Westminster  Abbey  records  an 
emotional  experience.  In  other  excursions  Irving  transported 
himself  into  the  past  by  an  intellectual  effort  in  which  the  lore 
and  the  sentiment  of  many  brooding  hours  in  the  library  mingled 
with  the  emotions  awakened  by  the  prospect  of  places  long 
dreamed  of.  When  he  came  to  Westminster,  the  great  Abbey 
took  possession  of  him.  To  enter  its  arched  doorway  was,  at 
once,  an  open  sesame  to  the  days  of  buried  kings  and  queens; 
its  storied  walls  surrounded  him  with  the  traditions  of  cen 
turies,  and,  at  each  step,  new  emotions  and  associations 
thronged  upon  him.  He,  alone,  the  living  man,  seemed  the 
unreal  mortal  being  in  this  shrine  of  England's  past. 

His  mind  was  busy  with  close  observation,  but  whatever  he 
saw  or  recalled  contributed  to  the  impression  made  upon  his 
imagination;  he  walked  in  a  dream  fashioned  of  all  ancient 
stuff  of  human  lives,  recorded  in  stone. 

In  writing  the  essay,  however,  Irving  sought  to  give  an 
account,  in  some  order,  of  the  features  of  the  Abbey  most  note 
worthy  for  the  visitor  who  sought  in  it  historic  memorials 
of  the  English  people,  but,  throughout,  the  emotion  and  awe 

136 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  137 

always  felt  by  him  whenever  he  revisited  the  place  furnished 
the  keynote  of  the  description.  A  sharp  distinction  should  be 
made  between  the  emotional  experience  and  the  descriptive 
narrative.  In  the  essay  Irving  is  often  the  antiquarian,  busy 
with  imparting  curious  information,  but  he  never  quite  escapes 
from  the  personal  point  of  view,  and  when,  at  length,  he 
comes  in  his  narrative  to  the  point  of  leaving  the  dim  aisles 
of  the  old  minster  to  the  gathering  shadows,  all  that  he  has 
seen  or  recalled  falls  into  indistinctness,  while  feelings  of  awe 
and  the  reflections  of  the  moralizer  mingle  in  his  mind.  D.] 

When  I  behold,  with  deep  astonishment, 
To  famous  Westminster  how  there  resorte 
Living  in  brasse  or  stoney  monument, 
The  princes  and  the  worthies  of  all  sorte : 
Doe  not  I  see  reformde  nobilitie, 
Without  contempt,  or  pride,  or  ostentation, 
And  looke  upon  offenselesse  majesty, 
Naked  of  pomp  or  earthly  domination? 
And  how  a  play-game  of  a  painted  stone 
Contents  the  quiet  now  and  silent  sprites, 
Whome  all  the  world  which  late  they  stood  upon 
Could  not  content  or  quench  their  appetites. 
Life  is  a  frost  of  cold  felicitie, 
And  death  the  thaw  of  all  our  vanitie. 
—  CHRISTOLERO'S  EPIGRAMS,  BY  T.  B.,  1598. 

1.  On  one  of  those  sober  and  rather  melancholy  days,  in 
the  latter  part  of  Autumn,  when  the  shadows  of  morning  and 
evening  almost  mingle  together,  and  throw  a  gloom  over  the 
decline  of  the  year,  I  passed  several  hours  in  rambling  about 
Westminster   Abbey.     There    was   something    congenial   to 
the  season  in  the  mournful  magnificence  of  the  old  pile ;  and, 
as  I  passed  its  threshold,  it  seemed  like  stepping  back  into 
the  regions  of  antiquity,  and  losing  myself  among  the  shades 
of  former  ages. 

2.  I  entered  from  the  inner  court  of  Westminster  School, 
through  a  long,  low,  vaulted  passage,  that  had  an  almost  sub 
terranean  look,  being  dimly  lighted  in  one  part  by  circular 
perforations  in  the  massive  walls.     Through  this  dark  avenue 
I  had  a  distant  view  of  the  cloisters,  with  the  figure  of  an  old 
verger,  in  his  black  gown,  moving  along  their  shadowy  vaults, 
and  seeming  like  a  spectre    from   one  of    the   neighboring 
tombs.     The  approach  to  the  abbey  through  these  gloomy 
monastic  remains  prepares  the  mind  for  its  solemn  contempla- 


138  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

tion.  The  cloisters  still  retain  something  of  the  quiet  and  se 
clusion  of  former  days.  The  gray  walls  are  discolored  by 
damps,  and  crumbling  with  age ;  a  coat  of  hoary  moss  has 
gathered  over  the  inscriptions  of  the  mural  monuments,  and 
obscured  the  death's-heads,  and  other  funereal  emblems. 
The  sharp  touches  of  the  chisel  are  gone  from  the  rich 
tracery  of  the  arches;  the  roses  which  adorned  the  key 
stones  have  lost  their  leafy  beauty;  everything  bears 
marks  of  the  gradual  dilapidations  of  time,  which  yet  has 
something  touching  and  pleasing  in  its  very  decay. 

3.  The  sun  was  pouring  down  a  yellow  autumnal  ray  into 
the  square  of  the  cloisters;   beaming  upon  a  scanty  plot  of 
grass  in  the  centre,  and  lighting  up  an  angle  of  the  vaulted 
passage  with  a  kind  of  dusky  splendor.     From  between  the 
arcades,  the  eye  glanced  up  to  a  bit  of  blue  sky  or  a  passing 
cloud,  and  beheld  the  sun-gilt  pinnacles  of  the  abbey  tower 
ing  into  the  azure  heaven. 

4.  As  I  paced  the  cloisters,  sometimes  contemplating  this 
mingled  picture  of  glory  and  decay,  and  sometimes  endeavor 
ing  to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones,  which 
formed  the  pavement  beneath  my  feet,  my  eye  was  attracted 
to  three  figures,  rudely  carved  in  relief,  but  nearly  worn  away 
by  the  footsteps  of  many  generations.     They  were  the  effigies 
of  three  of  the  early  abbots;    the  epitaphs  were  entirely 
effaced ;    the  names  alone  remained,  having  no  doubt  been 
renewed  in  later  times.     (Vitalis  Abbas.  1082,  and  Gisleber- 
tus  Crispinus.  Abbas.   1114,  and  Laurentius.  Abbas.  1176.) 
I  remained  some  little  while,  musing  over  these  casual  relics 
of  antiquity,  thus  left  like  wrecks  upon  this  distant  shore  of 
time,  telling  no  tale  but  that  such  beings  had  been,  and  had 
perished;    teaching  no  moral  but  the  futility  of  that  pride 
which  hopes  still  to  exact  homage  in  its  ashes,  and  to  live  in 
an  inscription.     A  little  longer,  and  even  these  faint  records 
will  be  obliterated,  and  the  monument  will  cease  to  be  a 
memorial.     Whilst  I  was  yet  looking  down  upon  these  grave 
stones,  I  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  the  abbey  clock,  rever 
berating  from  buttress  to  buttress,  and  echoing  among  the 
cloisters.     It  is  almost  startling  to  hear  this  warning  of  de- 


WESTMINSTER    ABBEY 


139 


parted  time  sounding  among  the  tombs,  and  telling  the  lapse 
of  the  hour,  which,  like  a  billow,  has  rolled  us  onward  towards 
the  grave.  I  pursued  my  walk  to  an  arched  door  opening  to 
the  interior  of  the  abbey.  On  entering  here,  the  magnitude 
of  the  building  breaks  fully  upon  the  mind,  contrasted  with 
the  vaults  of  the  cloisters.  The  eyes  gaze  with  wonder  at 
clustered  columns  of  gigantic  dimensions,  with  arches  spring- 


SOUTHEAST  CORNER  OF  THE  CLOISTERS,  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

ing  from  them  to  such  an  amazing  height ;  and  man  wandering 
about  their  bases,  shrunk  into  insignificance  in  comparison 
with  his  own  handiwork.  The  spaciousness  and  gloom  of 
this  vast  edifice  produce  a  profound  and  mysterious  awe. 
We  step  cautiously  and  softly  about,  as  if  fearful  of  disturbing 
the  hallowed  silence  of  the  tomb ;  while  every  footfall  whispers 
along  the  walls,  and  chatters  among  the  sepulchres,  making 
us  more  sensible  of  the  quiet  we  have  interrupted. 

5.  It  seems  as  if  the  awful  nature  of  the  place  presses  down 
upon  the  soul,  and  hushes  the  beholder  into  noiseless  rever 
ence.  We  feel  that  we  are  surrounded  by  the  congregated 
bones  of  the  great  men  of  past  times,  who  have  filled  history 
with  their  deeds,  and  the  earth  with  their  renown. 


140  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

6.  And  yet  it  almost  provokes  a  smile  at  the  vanity  of 
human  ambition,  to  see  how  they  are  crowded  together  and 
jostled  in  the  dust ;  what  parsimony  is  observed  in  doling  out 
a  scanty  nook,  a  gloomy  corner,  a  little  portion  of  earth, 
to  those,  whom,  when  alive,  kingdoms  could  not  satisfy; 
and  how  many  shapes,  and  forms,  and  artifices  are  devised 
to  catch  the  casual  notice  of  the  passenger,  and  save  from 
forgetfulness,  for  a  few  short  years,  a  name  which  once  aspired 
to  occupy  ages  of  the  world's  thought  and  admiration. 

7.  I  passed  some  time  in  Poet's  Corner,  which  occupies  an 
end  of  one  of  the  transepts  or  cross  aisles  of  the  abbey.     The 
monuments   are  generally  simple;    for  the  lives  of  literary 
men  afford  no  striking  themes  for  the  sculptor.     Shakspeare 
and  Addison  have  statues  erected  to  their  memories ;    but  the 
greater  part  have  busts,  medallions,  and  sometimes  mere  in 
scriptions.     Notwithstanding   the    simplicity   of   these   me 
morials,  I  have  always  observed  that  the  "visitors  to  the  abbey 
remained  longest  about  them.     A  kinder  and  fonder  feeling 
takes  place  of  that  cold  curiosity  or  vague  admiration  with 
which  they  gaze  on  the  splendid  monuments  of  the  great  and 
the  heroic.     They  linger  about  these  as  about  the  tombs  of 
friends  and  companions;    for  indeed  there  is  something  of 
companionship  between  the  author  and  the  reader.     Other 
men  are  known  to  posterity  only  through  the  medium  of  his 
tory,  which  is  continually  growing  faint  and  obscure ;  but  the 
intercourse  between  the  author  and  his  fellow-men  is  ever 
new,  active,  and  immediate.     He  has  lived  for  them  more 
than  for  himself;   he  has  sacrificed  surrounding  enjoyments, 
and  shut  himself  up  from  the  delights  of  social  life,  that  he 
might  the  more  intimately  commune  with  distant  minds  and 
distant  ages.     Well  may  the  world  cherish  his  renown ;   for  it 
has  been  purchased,  not  by  deeds  of  violence  and  blood,  but 
by  the  diligent  dispensation  of  pleasure.     Well  may  posterity 
be  grateful  to  his  memory ;  for  he  has  left  it  an  inheritance, 
not  of  empty  names  and  sounding  actions,  but  whole  treas 
ures  of  wisdom,  bright  gems  of  thought,  and  golden  veins  of 
language. 

8.  From  Poet's  Corner  I  continued  my  stroll  towards  that 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  141 

part  of  the  abbey  which  contains  the  sepulchres  of  the  kings. 
I  wandered  among  what  once  were  chapels,  but  which  are 
now  occupied  by  the  tombs  and  monuments  of  the  great. 
At  every  turn  I  met  with  some  illustrious  name,  or  the  cog 
nizance  of  some  powerful  house  renowned  in  history.  As  the 
eye  darts  into  these  dusky  chambers  of  death,  it  catches 
glimpses  of  quaint  effigies;  some  kneeling  in  niches,  as  if 
in  devotion;  others  stretched  upon  the  tombs,  with  hands 
piously  pressed  together;  warriors  in  armor,  as  if  reposing 
after  battle ;  prelates  with  crosiers  and  mitres ;  and  nobles  in 
robes  and  coronets,  lying  as  it  were  in  state.  In  glancing 
over  this  scene,  so  strangely  populous,  yet  where  every  form 
is  so  still  and  silent,  it  seems  almost  as  if  we  wrere  treading  a 
mansion  of  that  fabled  city,  where  every  being  had  been 
suddenly  transmuted  into  stone. 

9.  I  paused  to  contemplate  a  tomb  on  which  lay  the  effigy 
of  a  knight  in  complete  armor.  A  large  buckler  was  on  one 
arm;  the  hands  were  pressed  together  in  supplication  upon 
the  breast :  the  face  was  almost  covered  by  the  morion ;  the 
legs  were  crossed  in  token  of  the  warrior's  having  been  en 
gaged  in  the  holy  war.  It  was  the  tomb  of  a  Crusader;  of 
one  of  those  military  enthusiasts  who  so  strangely  mingled 
religion  and  romance,  and  whose  exploits  form  the  connecting 
link  between  fact  and  fiction;  between  the  history  and  the 
fairy  tale.  There  is  something  extremely  picturesque  in  the 
tombs  of  these  adventurers,  decorated  as  they  are  with  rude 
armorial  bearings  and  Gothic  sculpture.  They  comport  with 
the  antiquated  chapels  in  which  they  are  generally  found ;  and 
in  considering  them,  the  imagination  is  apt  to  kindle  with  the 
legendary  associations,  the  romantic  fiction,  the  chivalrous 
pomp  and  pageantry,  which  poetry  has  spread  over  the  wars 
for  the  sepulchre  of  Christ.  They  are  the  relics  of  times 
utterly  gone  by;  of  beings  passed  from  recollection;  of 
customs  and  manners  with  which  ours  have  no  affinity.  They 
are  like  objects  from  some  strange  and  distant  land,  of  which  / 
we  have  no  certain  knowledge,  and  about  which  all  our  con 
ceptions  are  vague  and  visionary.  There  is  something  ex 
tremely  solemn  and  awful  in  those  effigies  on  Gothic  tombs, 


142  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

extended  as  if  in  the  sleep  of  death,  or  in  the  supplication  ot 
the  dying  hour.  They  have  an  effect  infinitely  more  impres 
sive  on  my  feelings  than  the  fanciful  attitudes,  the  over 
wrought  conceits,  and  allegorical  groups,  which  abound  on 
modern  monuments.  I  have  been  struck,  also,  with  the 
superiority  of  many  of  the  old  sepulchral  inscriptions.  There 
was  a  noble  way,  in  former  times,  of  saying  things  simply,  and 
yet  saying  them  proudly ;  and  I  do  not  know  an  epitaph  that 
breathes  a  loftier  consciousness  of  family  worth  and  honorable 
lineage  than  one  which  affirms,  of  a  noble  house,  that  "all 
the  brothers  were  brave,  and  all  the  sisters  virtuous." 

10.  In  the  opposite  transept  to  Poet's  Corner  stands  a 
monument  which  is  among  the  most  renowned  achievements 
of  modern  art ;  but  which  to  me  appears  horrible  rather  than 
sublime."     It  is  the  tomb  of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Roubillac. 
The  bottom  of  the  monument  is  represented  as  throwing  open 
its  marble  doors,  and  a  sheeted  skeleton  is  starting  forth. 
The  shroud  is  falling  from  his  fleshless  frame  as  he  launches  his 
dart  at  his  victim.     She  is  sinking  into  her  affrighted  hus 
band's  arms,  who  strives,  with  vain  and  frantic  effort,  to 
avert  the  blow.     The  whole  is  executed  with  terrible  truth 
and  spirit;    we  almost  fancy  we  hear  the  gibbering  yell  of 
triumph  bursting  from  the  distended  jaws  of  the  spectre.  — 
But  why  should  we  thus  seek  to  clothe  death  with  unnecessary 
terrors,  and  to  spread  horrors  round  the  tomb  of  those  we 
love?    The  grave  should  be  surrounded  by  everything  that 
might  inspire  tenderness  and  veneration  for  the  dead ;  or  that 
might  win  the  living  to  virtue.     It  is  the  place,  not  of  disgust 
and  dismay,  but  of  sorrow  and  meditation. 

11.  While  wandering  about  these  gloomy  vaults  and  silent 
aisles,  studying  the  records  of  the  dead,  the  sound  of  busy 
existence    from    without    occasionally    reaches    the    ear ;  — 
the  rumbling  of  the  passing  equipage;    the  murmur  of  the 
multitude ;  or  perhaps  the  light  laugh  of  pleasure.     The  con 
trast  is  striking  with  the  deathlike  repose  around :  and  it  has 
a  strange  effect  upon  the  feelings,  thus  to  hear  the  surges  of 
active  life  hurrying  along,  and  beating  against  the  very  walls 
of  the  sepulchre. 


WESTMINSTER    ABBEY  143 

12.  I  continued  in  this  way  to  move  from  tomb  to  tomb, 
and  from  chapel  to  chapel.     The  day  was  gradually  wearing 
away;    the  distant  tread  of  loiterers  about  the  abbey  grew 
less  and  less  frequent ;  the  sweet-tongued  bell  was  summoning 
to  evening  prayers;   and  I  saw  at  a  distance  the  choristers, 
in  their  white  surplices,  crossing  the  aisle  and  entering  the 
choir.     I  stood  before  the  entrance  to  Henry  the  Seventh's 
chapel.     A  flight  of  steps  lead  up  to  it,  through  a  deep  and 
gloomy,  but  magnificent  arch.     Great  gates  of  brass,  richly 
and   delicately  wrought,  turn   heavily  upon  their  hinges,  as 
if  ^proudly  reluctant  to  admit  the  feet  of  common  mortals 
into  this  most  gorgeous  of  sepulchres. 

13.  On  entering,  the  eye  is  astonished  by  the  pomp  of 
architecture,  and  the  elaborate  beauty  of  sculptured  detail. 
The  very  walls  are  wrought  into  universal  ornament,  incrusted 
with  tracery,   and  scooped  into  niches,   crowded  with  the 
statues  of  saints  and  martyrs.     Stone  seems,  by  the  cunning 
labor  of  the  chisel,  to  have  been  robbed  of  its  weight  and 
density,  suspended  aloft,  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  fretted  roof 
achieved  with  the  wonderful  minuteness  and  airy  security  of 
a  cobweb. 

14.  Along  the  sides  of  the  chapel  are  the  lofty  stalls  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Bath,  richly  carved  of  oak,  though  with  the 
grotesque  decorations  of  Gothic  architecture.     On  the  pin 
nacles  of  the  stalls  are  affixed  the  helmets  and  crests  of  the 
knights,  with  their  scarfs  and  swords;    and  above  them  are 
suspended  their  banners,  emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings, 
and  contrasting  the  splendor  of  gold  and  purple  and  crimson 
with  the  cold  gray  fretwork  of  the  roof.     In  the  midst  of  this 
grand  mausoleum  stands  the   sepulchre   of  its  founder,  — 
his  effigy,  with  that  of  his  queen,  extended  on  a  sumptuous 
tomb,  and  the  whole  surrounded  by  a  superbly  wrought  brazen 
railing. 

15.  There  is  a  sad  dreariness  in  this  magnificence;  this 
strange  mixture  of  tombs  and  trophies;    these  emblems  of 
living  and  aspiring  ambition,  close  beside  mementos  which 
show  the  dust  and  oblivion  in  which  all  must  sooner  or  later 
terminate.     Nothing  impresses  the  mind  with  a  deeper  feeling 


144  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  loneliness  than  to  tread  the  silent  and  deserted  scene  of 
former  throng  and  pageant.  On  looking  round  on  the  vacant 
stalls  of  the  knights  and  their  esquires,  and  on  the  rows  of 
dusty  but  gorgeous  banners  that  were  once  borne  before  them, 
my  imagination  conjured  up  the  scene  when  this  hall  was 
bright  with  the  valor  and  beauty  of  the  land ;  glittering  with 
the  splendor  of  jewelled  rank  and  military  array;  alive  with 
the  tread  of  many  feet  and  the  hum  of  an  admiring  multitude. 
All  had  passed  away;  the  silence  of  death  had  settled  again 
upon  the  place,  interrupted  only  by  the  casual  chirping  of 
birds,  which  had  found  their  way  into  the  chapel,  and  built 
their  nests  among  its  friezes  and  pendants  —  sure  signs  of 
solitariness  and  desertion. 

16.  When  I  read  the  names  inscribed  on  the  banners,  they 
were  those  of  men  scattered  far  and  wide  about  the  world ;  some 
tossing  upon  distant  seas ;  some  under  arms  in  distant  lands ; 
some  mingling  in  the  busy  intrigues  of  courts  and  cabinets ; 
all  seeking  to  deserve  one  more  distinction  in  this  mansion 
of  shadowy  honors :  the  melancholy  reward  of  a  monument. 

17.  Two  small  aisles  on  each  side  of  this  chapel  present 
a  touching  instance  of  the  equality  of  the  grave ;  which  brings 
down  the  oppressor  to  a  level  with  the  oppressed,  and  mingles 
the  dust  of  the  bitterest  enemies  together.     In  one  is  the 
sepulchre  of  the  haughty  Elizabeth;   in  the  other  is  that  of 
her  victim,  the  lovely  and  unfortunate  Mary.     Not  an  hour 
in  the  day  but  some  ejaculation  of  pity  is  uttered  over  the 
fate  of  the  latter,  mingled  with  indignation  at  her  oppressor. 
The  walls  of  Elizabeth's  sepulchre  continually  echo  with  the 
sighs  of  sympathy  heaved  at  the  grave  of  her  rival. 

18.  A  peculiar  melancholy  reigns  over  the  aisle  where 
Mary  lies  buried.     The  light  struggles  dimly  through  windows 
darkened  by  dust.     The  greater  part  of  the  place  is  in  deep 
shadow,  and  the  walls  are  stained  and  tinted  by  time  and 
weather.     A  marble  figure  of  Mary  is  stretched  upon  the 
tomb,  round  which  is  an  iron  railing,  much  corroded,  bearing 
her  national  emblem  —  the  thistle.     I  was  weary  with  wan 
dering,  and  sat  down  to  rest  myself  by  the  monument,  revolving 
in  my  mind  the  checkered  and  disastrous  story  of  poor  Mary. 


HENRY  VII  CHAPEL,  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  145 

19.  The  sound  of   casual  footsteps  had  ceased  from  the 
abbey.     I  could  only  hear,  now  and  then,  the  distant  voice 
of  the  priest  repeating  the  evening  service,  and  the  faint 
responses  of  the  choir;  these  paused  for  a  time,  and  all  was 
hushed.     The  stillness,  the  desertion  and  obscurity  that  were 
gradually  prevailing  around,  gave  a  deeper  and  more  solemn 
interest  to  the  place. 

For  in  the  silent  grave  no  conversation, 

No  joyful  tread  of  friends,  no  voice  of  lovers, 

No  careful  father's  counsel  —  nothing's  heard, 

For  nothing  is,  but  all  oblivion, 

Dust,  and  an  endless  darkness. 

20.  Suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep-laboring  organ  burst 
upon  the  ear,  falling  with  doubled  and  redoubled  intensity, 
and  rolling,  as  it  were,  huge  billows  of  sound.     How  well  do 
their  volume  and  grandeur  accord  with  this  mighty  building ! 
With  what  pomp  do  they  swell  through  its  vast  vaults,  and 
breathe  their  awful  harmony  through  these  caves  of  death, 
and  make  the  silent  sepulchre  vocal !  —  And  now  they  rise 
in  triumph  and  acclamation,  heaving  higher  and  higher  their 
accordant  notes,  and  piling  sound  on  sound.  —  And  now  they 
pause,  and  the  soft  voices  of  the  choir  break  out  into  sweet 
gushes  of  melody ;  they  soar  aloft,  and  warble  along  the  roof, 
and  seem  to  play  about  these  lofty  vaults  like  the  pure  airs  of 
heaven.    Again  the  pealing  organ  heaves  its  thrilling  thunders, 
compressing  air  into  music,  and  rolling  it  forth  upon  the  soul. 
What  long-drawn  cadences !    What  solemn  sweeping    con 
cords  !     It  grows  more  and  more  dense  and  powerful  —  it  fills 
the  vast  pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very  walls  —  the  ear  is 
stunned  —  the    senses    are    overwhelmed.     And    now   it    is 
winding  up  in  full  jubilee  —  it  is  rising  from  the  earth  to 
heaven  —  the  very  soul  seems  rapt  away  and  floated   up 
wards  on  this  swelling  tide  of  harmony ! 

21.  I  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  that  kind  of  reverie  which 
a  strain  of  music  is  apt  sometimes  to  inspire :  the  shadows  of 
evening  were  gradually  thickening  round  me ;  the  monuments 
began  to  cast  deeper  and  deeper  gloom :    and  the  distant 
clock  again  gave  token  of  the  slowly  waning  day. 


146  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

22.  I  rose  and  prepared  to  leave  the  abbey.  As  I  de 
scended  the  flight  of  steps  which  iead  into  the  body  of  the 
building,  my  eye  was  caught  by  the  shrine  of  Edward  the  Con 
fessor,  and  I  ascended  the  small  staircase  that  conducts  to 
it,  to  take  from  thence  a  general  survey  of  this  wilderness 
of  tombs.  The  shrine  is  elevated  upon  a  kind  of  platform, 
and  close  around  it  are  the  sepulchres  of  various  kings  and 
queens.  From  this  eminence  the  eye  looks  down  between 
pillars  and  funeral  trophies  to  the  chapels  and  chambers 
below,  crowded  with  tombs,  —  where  warriors,  prelates, 
courtiers,  and  statesmen  lie  mouldering  in  their  "beds  of 
darkness."  Close  by  me  stood  the  great  chair  of  coronation, 
rudely  carved  of  oak,  in  the  barbarous  taste  of  a  remote  and 
Gothic  age.  The  scene  seemed  almost  as  if  contrived,  with 
theatrical  artifice,  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the  beholder. 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  human  pomp 
and  power;  here  it  was  literally  but  a  step  from  the  throne 
to  the  sepulchre.  Would  not  one  think  that  these  incongru 
ous  mementos  had  been  gathered  together  as  a  lesson  to  living 
greatness  ?  —  to  show  it,  even  in  the  moment  of  its  proudest 
exaltation,  the  neglect  and  dishonor  to  which  it  must  soon 
arrive ;  how  soon  that  crown  which  encircles  its  brow  must 
pass  away,  and  it  must  lie  down  in  the  dust  and  disgraces  of 
the  tomb,  and  be  trampled  upon  by  the  feet  of  the  meanest 
of  the  multitude.  For,  strange  to  tell,  even  the  grave  is  here 
no  longer  a  sanctuary.  There  is  a  shocking  levity  in  some 
natures,  which  leads  them  to  sport  with  awful  and  hallowed 
things;  and  there  are  base  minds,  which  delight  to  revenge 
on  the  illustrious  dead  the  abject  homage  and  grovelling 
servility  which  they  pay  to  the  living.  The  coffin  of  Edward 
the  Confessor  has  been  broken  open,  and  his  remains  de 
spoiled  of  their  funereal  ornaments;  the  sceptre  has  been 
stolen  from  the  hand  of  the  imperious  Elizabeth,  and  the 
effigy  of  Henry  the  Fifth  lies  headless.  Not  a  royal  monu 
ment  but  bears  some  proof  how  false  and  fugitive  is  the  hom 
age  of  mankind.  Some  are  plundered;  some  mutilated; 
some  covered  with  ribaldry  and  insult,  —  all  more  or  less 
outraged  and  dishonored! 


WESTMINSTER    ABBEY 


147 


23.  The  last  beams  of  day  were  now  faintly  streaming 
through  the  painted  windows  in  high  vaults  above  me;  the 
lower  parts  of  the  abbey  were  already  wrapped  in  the  ob 
scurity  of  twilight.  The  chapels  and  aisles  grew  darker  and 
darker.  The  effigies  of  the  kings  faded  into  shadows;  the 
marble  figures  of  the  monuments  assumed  strange  shapes 
in  the  uncertain 
light;  the  evening 
breeze  crept 
through  the  aisles 
like  the  cold  breath 
of  the  grave ;  and 
even  the  distant 
footfall  of  a  verger, 
traversing  the 
Poet's  Corner,  had 
something  strange 
and  dreary  in  its 
sound.  I  slowly 
retraced  my  morn 
ing's  walk,  and  as 
I  passed  out  at  the 
portal  of  the  clois 
ters,  the  door, 
closing  with  a  jar 
ring  noise  behind 
me,  filled  the  whole 
building  with 
echoes. 

24. 1  endeavored 
to  form  some  ar 
rangement  in  my  mind  of  the  objects  I  had  been  contem 
plating  but  found  they  were  already  fallen  into  indistinctness 
and  confusion.  Names,  inscriptions,  trophies,  had  all  become 
confounded  in  my  recollection,  though  I  had  scarcely  taken  my 
foot  from  off  the  threshold.  What,  thought  I,  is  this  vast 
assemblage  of  sepulchres  but  a  treasury  of  humiliation ;  a  huge 
pile  of  reiterated  homilies  on  the  emptiness  of  renown,  and  the 


TOMB  OF  EDWARD  THE  CONFESSOR 


148  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

certainty  of  oblivion !  It  is,  indeed,  the  empire  of  death  — 
his  great  shadowy  palace,  where  he  sits  in  state,  mocking  at 
the  relics  of  human  glory,  and  spreading  dust  and  forgetful- 
ness  on  the  monuments  of  princes.  How  idle  a  boast,  after 
all,  is  the  immortality  of  a  name.  Time  is  ever  silently  turn 
ing  over  his  pages ;  we  are  too  much  engrossed  by  the  story 
of  the  present,  to  think  of  the  characters  and  anecdotes  that 
gave  interest  to  the  past ;  and  each  age  is  a  volume  thrown 
aside  to  be  speedily  forgotten.  The  idol  of  to-day  pushes  the 
hero  of  yesterday  out  of  our  recollection;  and  will,  in  turn, 
be  supplanted  by  his  successor  of  to-morrow.  "  Our  fathers/' 
says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "find  their  graves  in  our  short 
memories,  and  sadly  tell  us  how  we  may  be  buried  in  our  sur 
vivors."  History  fades  into  fable;  fact  becomes  clouded 
with  doubt  and  controversy;  the  inscription  moulders  from 
the  tablet;  the  statue  falls  from  the  pedestal.  Columns, 
arches,  pyramids,  what  are  they  but  heaps  of  sand ;  and  their 
epitaphs,  but  characters  written  in  the  dust?  What  is  the 
security  of  a  tomb,  or  the  perpetuity  of  an  embalmment? 
The  remains  of  Alexander  the  Great  have  been  scattered  to 
the  wind,  and  his  empty  sarcophagus  is  now  the  mere  curi 
osity  of  a  museum.  "The  Egyptian  mummies,  which  Cam- 
byses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth ;  Mizraim 
cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams."  1 

25.  What  then  is  to  insure  this  pile  which  now  towers  above 
me  from  sharing  the  fate  of  mightier  mausoleums?  The 
time  must  come  when  its  gilded  vaults,  which  now  spring  so 
loftily,  shall  lie  in  rubbish  beneath  the  feet ;  when,  instead  of 
the  sound  of  melody  and  praise,  the  wind  shall  whistle  through 
the  broken  arches,  and  the  owl  hoot  from  the  shattered 
tower,  —  when  the  garish  sunbeam  shall  break  into  these 
gloomy  mansions  of  death,  and  the  ivy  twine  round  the  fallen 
column ;  and  the  foxglove  hang  its  blossoms  about  the  name 
less  urn,  as  if  in  mockery  of  the  dead.  Thus  man  passes 
away;  his  name  perishes  from  record  and  recollection;  his 
history  is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  his  very  monument 
becomes  a  ruin.2 

1  Sir  T.  Browne.      2  For  notes  on  Westminster  Abbey,  see  Appendix. 


THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE 
A   COLLOQUY  IN  WESTMINSTER    ABBEY 

[COMMENT.  —  "The  Mutability  of  Literature "  has  been  in 
cluded  in  this  edition  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  so  that  it  may 
be  read  with  "Westminster  Abbey."  The  library  which  is 
the  scene  of  the  reveries  here  set  down  is  in  one  of  the  build 
ings  belonging  to  Westminster.  From  the  middle  of  the 
east  side  of  the  cloister  opens  the  two-arched  entrance  to  the 
chapter-house.  In  Irving's  day,  the  northern  arch  and  one- 
half  the  entrance  were  walled  in  to  enclose  a  stair  which  led 
to  the  northern  end  of  the  library.  Since  then,  the  chapter 
house  entrance  has  been  removed  and  an  earlier  stone  stair 
restored,  leading  from  the  same  east  cloister  up  through  the 
floor  of  the  library  to  a  point  nearer  the  centre  of  the  hall. 
In  the  olden  time,  the  hall,  one  end  of  which  is  now  the 
library,  was  the  dormitory  of  the  monks,  and  for  their  con 
venience  in  going  to  night  services,  a  narrow  passage  led  from 
its  northern  end  directly  into  the  southern  transept  of  the 
minster. 

Westminster  School,  to  which  the  library  belongs,  dates  from 
the  dissolution  of  the  monastic  house  of  Henry  VIII,  who  used 
a  part  of  the  confiscated  revenues  to  found  a  bishopric  and 
establish  a  school  for  forty  scholars  with  an  upper  and  an  under 
master.  School  and  bishopric  were  both  abolished  under 
Queen  Mary,  but  Elizabeth  restored  the  school  practically  in 
accordance  with  her  father's  plan,  and  established  the  Dean 
and  twelve  Prebendaries  under  the  name  of  the  college  or 
collegiate  church  of  St.  Peter,  Westminster,  with  the  distinct 
intention  of  creating  a  great  academical  as  well  as  an  ecclesi 
astical  body.  There  were  forty  scholars,  as  before,  on  the 
Queen's  foundation,  who  were  to  be  supported  at  Westminster. 
Besides  these,  other  students,  eighty  in  all,  were  admitted  either 
as  pensioners,  that  is,  as  boarding  pupils,  or  as  townsmen  of  West 
minster.  Students  from  outside  of  the  city  of  Westminster 
were  required  to  become  townsmen  by  securing  some  house 
holder  who  would  take  them  into  his  house  and  be  responsible 
for  their  bills  and  conduct.  The  charter  and  statutes  which 
were  granted  for  the  government  of  this  school  remain  in  force 
to  the  present  time,  and  it  is  in  accordance  with  them  that 
Latin  plays  are  produced  at  intervals  by  the  pupils  of  the 

149 


150  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

school.  The  privilege  of  Westminster  for  prayers  has  belonged 
to  the  school  immemorially,  and  each  morning  the  scholars 
assemble  for  this  purpose  in  the  Poets'  Corner. 

Dean  Stanley,  in  "Historical  Memorials  of  Westminster 
Abbey,"  quotes  Irving's  description  of  the  library  as  better 
than  any  he  could  himself  write.  D.] 

I  know  that  all  beneath  the  moon  decays, 
And  what  by  mortals  in  this  world  is  brought, 
In  time's  great  period  shall  return  to  nought. 

I  know  that  all  the  muse's  heavenly  lays, 
With  toil  of  sprite  which  are  so  dearly  bought, 
As  idle  sounds,  of  few  or  none  are  sought, 

That  there  is  nothing  lighter  than  mere  praise. 

DRUMMOND  OF  HAWTHORNDEN. 

1.  There  are    certain  half-dreaming  moods  of    mind,  in 
which  we  naturally  steal  away  from  noise  and  glare,  and  seek 
some  quiet  haunt,  where  we  may  indulge  our  reveries  and 
build  our  air-castles  undisturbed.     In  such  a  mood  I  was 
loitering  about  the  old  gray  cloisters  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
enjoying  that  luxury  of  wandering  thought  which  one  is  apt 
to  dignify  with  the  name  of  reflection;    when  suddenly  an 
interruption    of    madcap    boys    from    Westminster    School, 
playing  at  football,  broke  in  upon  the  monastic  stillness  of  the 
place,  making  the  vaulted  passages  and  mouldering  tombs 
echo  with  their  merriment.     I  sought  to  take  refuge  from 
their  noise  by  penetrating  still  deeper  into  the  solitudes  of 
the  pile,  and  applied  to  one  of  the  vergers  for  admission  to 
the  library.     He  conducted  me  through  a  portal  rich  with  the 
crumbling  sculpture  of  former  ages,  which  opened  upon  a 
gloomy   passage    leading    to   the    chapter-house    and    the 
chamber  in  which  doomsday-book  is  deposited.     Just  writhin 
the  passage  is  a  small  door  on  the  left.     To  this  the  verger 
applied  a  key;  it  was  double  locked,  and  opened  with  some 
difficulty,  as   if    seldom   used.     We  now  ascended  a  dark, 
narrow    staircase,    and,    passing     through    a    second  door, 
entered  the  library. 

2.  I  found  myself  in  a  lofty  antique  hall,  the  roof  supported 
by  massive  joists  of  old  English  oak.     It  was  soberly  lighted 
by  a  row  of  Gothic  windows  at  a  considerable  height  from 
the  floor,  and  which  apparently  opened  upon  the  roofs  of  the 


THE   MUTABILITY   OF   LITERATURE 


151 


cloisters.  An  ancient  picture  of  some  reverend  dignitary  of 
the  church  in  his  robes  hung  over  the  fireplace.  Around  the 
hall  and  in  a  small  gallery  were  the  books,  arranged  in  carved 
oaken  cases.  They  consisted  principally  of  old  polemical 
writers,  and  were  much  more  worn  by  time  than  use.  In  the 
centre  of  the  library  was  a  solitary  table  with  two  or  three 


THE  LIBRARY,  WESTMINSTER 

books  on  it,  an  inkstand  without  ink,  and  a  few  pens  parched 
by  long  disuse.  The  place  seemed  fitted  for  quiet  study  and 
profound  meditation.  It  was  buried  deep  among  the  massive 
walls  of  the  abbey,  and  shut  up  from  the  tumult  of  the  world. 
I  could  only  hear  now  and  then  the  shouts  of  the  school 
boys  faintly  swelling  from  the  cloisters,  and  the  sound  of  a 
bell  tolling  for  prayers,  echoing  soberly  along  the  roofs  of  the 


152  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

abbey.  By  degrees  the  shouts  of  merriment  grew  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  at  length  died  away ;  the  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  a 
profound  silence  reigned  through  the  dusky  hall. 

3.  I  had  taken  down  a  little  thick  quarto,  curiously  bound 
in  parchment,  with  brass  clasps,  and  seated  myself  at  the 
table  in  a  venerable  elbow-chair.    Instead  of  reading,  however, 
I  was  beguiled  by  the  solemn  monastic  air,  and  lifeless  quiet 
of  the  place,  into  a  train  of  musing.     As  I  looked  around 
upon  the  old  volumes  in  their  mouldering  covers,  thus  ranged 
on  the  shelves,  and  apparently  never  disturbed  in  their  repose, 
I  could  not  but  consider  the  library  a  kind  of  literary  cata 
comb,  where  authors,  like  mummies,  are  piously  entombed, 
and  left  to  blacken  and  moulder  in  dusty  oblivion. 

4.  How  much,  thought  I,  has  each  of  these  volumes,  now 
thrust  aside  with  such  indifference,  cost  some  aching  head ! 
how  many  weary  days !    how  many  sleepless  nights !     How 
have  their  authors  buried  themselves  in  the  solitude  of  cells 
and  cloisters ;  shut  themselves  up  from  the  face  of  man,  and 
the  still  more  blessed  face  of  nature ;  and  devoted  themselves 
to  painful  research  and  intense  reflection  !    And  all  for  what  ? 
to  occupy  an  inch  of  dusty  shelf,  —  to  have  the  title  of  their 
works  read  now  and  then  in  a  future  age,  by  some  drowsy 
churchman  or  casual  straggler  like  myself;    and  in  another 
age  to  be  lost,  even  to  remembrance.     Such  is  the  amount  of 
this  boasted  immortality.     A  mere  temporary  rumor,  a  local 
sound ;  like  the  tone  of  that  bell  which  has  just  tolled  among 
these  towers,  filling  the  ear  for  a  moment  —  lingering  tran 
siently  in  echo — and  then  passing  away  like  a  thing  that  was 
not! 

5.  While   I   sat  half  murmuring,   half  meditating  these 
unprofitable  speculations,  with  my  head  resting  on  my  hand, 
I  was  thrumming  with  the  other  hand  upon  the  quarto,  until 
I  accidentally  loosened  the  clasps ;  when,  to  my  utter  aston 
ishment,  the  little  book  gave  two  or  three  yawns,  like  one 
awaking  from  a  deep  sleep;    then  a  husky  hem;    and    at 
length  began  to  talk.     At  first  its  voice  was  very  hoarse  and 
broken,  being  much  troubled  by  a  cobweb  which  some  studi 
ous  spider  had  woven  across  it;   and  having  probably  con- 


THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE  153 

tracted  a  cold  from  long  exposure  to  the  chills  and  damps 
of  the  abbey.  In  a  short  time,  however,  it  became  more  dis 
tinct,  and  I  soon  found  it  an  exceedingly  fluent,  conversable 
little  tome.  Its  language,  to  be  sure,  was  rather  quaint  and 
obsolete,  and  its  pronunciation,  what,  in  the  present  day, 
would  be  deemed  barbarous ;  but  I  shall  endeavor,  as  far  as  I 
am  able,  to  render  it  in  modern  parlance. 

6.  It  began  with  railings  about  the  neglect  of  the  world  — 
about  merit  being  suffered  to  languish  in  obscurity,  and  other 
such  commonplace  topics  of  literary  repining,  and  complained 
bitterly  that  it  had  not  been  opened  for  more  than  two  cen 
turies.     That  the  dean  only  looked  now  and  then  into  the 
library,  sometimes  took  down  a  volume  or  two,  trifled  with 
them  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  returned  them  to  their 
shelves.     "What  a  plague  do  they  mean/'  said  the  little 
quarto,  which  I  began  to  perceive  was  somewhat  choleric, 
"what  a  plague  do  they  mean  by  keeping  several  thousand 
volumes  of  us  shut  up  here,  and  watched  by  a  set  of  old  ver 
gers,  like  so  many  beauties  in  a  harem,  merely  to  be  looked 
at  now  and  then  by  the  dean?     Books  were  written  to  give 
pleasure  and  to  be  enjoyed;   and  I  would  have  a  rule  passed 
that  the  dean  should  pay  each  of  us  a  visit  at  least  once  a  year ; 
or,  if  he  is  not  equal  to  the  task,  let  them  once  in  a  while  turn 
loose  the  whole  School  of  Westminster  among  us,  that  at  any 
rate  we  may  now  and  then  have  an  airing." 

7.  "Softly,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  I;  "you  are  not 
aware  how  much  better  you  are  off  than  most  books  of  your 
generation.     By  being  stored  away  in  this  ancient  library, 
you  are  like  the  treasured  remains  of  those  saints  and  mon- 
archs  which  lie  enshrined  in  the  adjoining  chapels;  while  the 
remains  of  your  contemporary  mortals,  left  to  the  ordinary 
course  of  nature,  have  long  since  returned  to  dust." 

8.  "  Sir,"  said  the  little  tome,  ruffling  his  leaves  and  looking 
big,  "  I  was  written  for  all  the  world,  not  for  the  bookworms 
of  an  abbey.     I  was  intended  to  circulate  from  hand  to  hand, 
like  other  great  contemporary  works;   but  here  have  I  been 
clasped  up  for  more  than  two  centuries,  and  might  have 
silently  fallen  a  prey  to  these  worms  that  are  playing  the  very 


154  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

vengeance  with  my  intestines,  if  you  had  not  by  chance  given 
me  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  few  last  words  before  I  go 
to  pieces." 

9.  "  My  good  friend,"  rejoined  I,  "had  you  been  left  to  the 
circulation  of  which  you  speak,  you  would  long  ere  this  have 
been  no  more.  To  judge  from  your  physiognomy,  you  are  now 
well  stricken  in  years :  very  few  of  your  contemporaries  can 
be  at  present  in  existence ;  and  those  few  owe  their  longevity 
to  being  immured  like  yourself  in  old  libraries ;  which,  suffer 
me  to  add,  instead  of  likening  to  harems,  you  might  more 
properly  and  gratefully  have  compared  to  those  infirmaries 
attached  to  religious  establishments,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
old  and  decrepit,  and  where,  by  quiet  fostering  and  no  em 
ployment,  they  often  endure  to  an  amazingly  good-for-nothing 
old  age.  You  talk  of  your  contemporaries  as  if  in  circulation, 
—  where  do  we  meet  with  their  works  ?  What  do  we  hear 
of  Robert  Groteste,  of  Lincoln?  No  one  could  have  toiled 
harder  than  he  for  immortality.  He  is  said  to  have  written 
nearly  two  hundred  volumes.  He  built,  as  it  were,  a  pyramid 
of  books  to  perpetuate  his  name ;  but,  alas !  the  pyramid  has 
long  since  fallen,  and  only  a  few  fragments  are  scattered  in 
various  libraries,  where  they  are  scarcely  disturbed  even  by 
the  antiquarian.  What  do  we  hear  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis, 
the  historian,  antiquary,  philosopher,  theologian,  and  poet? 
He  declined  two  bishoprics,  that  he  might  shut  himself  up  and 
write  for  posterity :  but  posterity  never  inquires  after  his 
labors.  What  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon,  who,  besides  a 
learned  history  of  England,  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  contempt 
of  the  world,  which  the  wrorld  has  revenged  by  forgetting  him  ? 
What  is  quoted  of  Joseph  of  Exeter,  styled  the  miracle  of  his 
age  in  classical  composition  ?  Of  his  three  great  heroic  poemf 
one  is  lost  forever  excepting  a  mere  fragment ;  the  others  are 
known  only  to  a  few  of  the  curious  in  literature ;  and  as  to 
his  love-verses  and  epigrams,  they  have  entirely  disappeared. 
What  is  in  current  use  of  John  Wallis,  the  Franciscan,  who 
acquired  the  name  of  the  tree  of  life  ?  Of  William  of  Malms- 
bury  ;  —  of  Simeon  of  Durham  ;  —  of  Benedict  of  Peter 
borough  ;  —  of  John  Hanvill  of  St.  Albans ;  —  of  — 


THE   MUTABILITY    OF    LITERATURE  155 

10.  "Prithee,  friend,"  cried  the  quarto,  in  a  testy  tone, 
"how  old  do  you  think  me  ?     You  are  talking  of  authors  that 
lived  long  before  my  time,  and  wrote  either  in  Latin  or  French, 
so  that  they  in  a  manner  expatriated  themselves,  and  de 
served   to  be  forgotten ;  *  but  I,  sir,  was  ushered  into  the 
world  from  the  press  of  the  renowned  Wynkyn  de  Worde. 
I  was  written  in  my  own  native  tongue,  at  a  time  when  the 
language  had  become  fixed ;   and  indeed  I  was  considered  a 
model  of  pure  and  elegant  English." 

11.  (I  should  observe  that  these  remarks  were  couched 
in  such  intolerably  antiquated  terms,  that  I  have  had  infinite 
difficulty  in  rendering  them  into  modern  phraseology.) 

12.  "I  cry  your  mercy,"  said  I,  "for  mistaking  your  age; 
but  it  matters  little :  almost  all  the  writers  of  your  time  have 
likewise  passed  into  forgetf ulness ;   and  De  Worde 's  publica 
tions  are  mere  literary  rarities  among  book-collectors.     The 
purity  and  stability  of  language,  too,  on  which  you  found  your 
claims  to  perpetuity,  have  been  the  fallacious  dependence  of 
authors  of  every  age,  even  back  to  the  times  of  the  worthy 
Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  wrote  his  history  in  rhymes  of  mon 
grel  Saxon.2    Even  now  many  talk  of  Spenser's  '  Well  of 
pure  English  undefiled'  as  if  the  language  ever  sprang  from 
a  well  or  fountain-head,  and  was  not  rather  a  mere  confluence 
of  various  tongues,  perpetually  subject  to  changes  and  inter 
mixtures.     It  is  this  which  has  made  English  literature  so 
extremely  mutable,   and   the   reputation   built   upon   it   so 
fleeting.     Unless  thought  can  be  committed  to  something 

1  In  Latin  and  French  hath  many  soueraine  wittes  had  great  delyte 
to  endite,  and  have  many  noble  thinges  fulfilde,  but  certes  there  ben 
some  that  speaken  their  poisye  in  French,  of  which  speche  the  French 
men  have  as  good  a  fantasye  as  we  have  in  hearying  of  Frenchmen's 
Englishe.  —  Chaucer's  Testament  of  Love. 

2  Holinshed,  in  his  Chronicle,  observes,  "afterwards,  also  by  deli- 
gent  travell  of  Geffry  Chaucer  and  of  John  Gowre,  in  the  time  of 
Richard  the  Second,  and  after  them  of  John  Scogan  and  John  Lyd- 
gate,  monke  of  Berrie,  our  said  toong  was  brought  to  an  excellent 
passe,  notwithstanding  that  it  never  came  unto  the  type  of  perfection 
until  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  wherein  John  Jewell,   Bishop  of 
Sarum,  John  Fox,  and  sundrie  learned  and  excellent  writers     have 
fully  accomplished  the  ornature  of  the  same,  to  their  great  praise  and 
immortal  commendation." 


156  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

more  permanent  and  unchangeable  than  such  a  medium,  even 
thought  must  share  the  fate  of  everything  else,  and  fall  into 
decay.  This  should  serve  as  a  check  upon  the  vanity  and 
exultation  of  the  most  popular  writer.  He  finds  the  language 
in  which  he  has  embarked  his  fame  gradually  altering,  and 
subject  to  the  dilapidations  of  time  and  the  caprice  of  fashion. 
He  looks  back  and  beholds  the  early  authors  of  his  country, 
once  the  favorites  of  their  day,  supplanted  by  modern  writers. 
A  few  short  ages  have  covered  them  with  obscurity,  and  their 
merits  can  only  be  relished  by  the  quaint  taste  of  the  book 
worm.  And  such,  he  anticipates,  will  be  the  fate  of  his  own 
work,  which,  however  it  may  be  admired  in  its  day,  and  held 
up  as  a  model  of  purity,  will  in  the  course  of  years  grow  an 
tiquated  and  obsolete,  until  it  shall  become  almost  as  unin 
telligible  in  its  native  land  as  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  or  one 
of  those  Runic  inscriptions  said  to  exist  in  the  deserts  of 
Tartary.  I  declare,"  added  I,  with  some  emotion,  "when 
I  contemplate  a  modern  library,  filled  with  new  works,  in  all  the 
bravery  of  rich  gilding  and  binding,  I  feel  disposed  to  sit  down 
and  weep ;  like  the  good  Xerxes,  when  he  surveyed  his  army, 
pranked  out  in  all  the  splendor  of  military  array,  and  re 
flected  that  in  one  hundred  years  not  one  of  them  would  be  in 
existence ! " 

13.  "Ah,"  said  the  little  quarto,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "I  see 
how  it  is;    these  modern  scribblers  have  superseded  all  the 
good  old  authors.     I  suppose  nothing  is  read  nowadays  but 
Sir  Philip  Sydney's  'Arcadia/  Sackville's  stately  plays,  and 
*  Mirror  for  Magistrates/  or  the  fine-spun  euphuisms  of  the 
'unparalleled  John  Lyly.'" 

14.  "There  you  are  again  mistaken/' said  I ;  "the  writers 
whom  you  suppose  in  vogue,  because  they  happened  to  be 
so  when  you  were  last  in  circulation,  have  long  since  had  their 
day.     Sir    Philip    Sydney's    'Arcadia/    the    immortality    of 
which  was  so  fondly  predicted  by  his  admirers,1  and  which, 

1  Live  ever  sweete  booke ;  the  simple  image  of  his  gentle  witt, 
and  the  golden-pillar  of  his  noble  courage  ;  and  ever  notify  unto  the 
world  that  thy  writer  was  the  secretary  of  eloquence,  the  breath  of 
the  muses,  the  honey-bee  of  the  daintyest  flowers  of  witt  and  arte. 


THE   MUTABILITY   OF   LITERATURE  157 

in  truth,  is  full  of  noble  thoughts,  delicate  images,  and  graceful 
turns  of  language,  is  now  scarcely  ever  mentioned.  Sackville 
has  strutted  into  obscurity;  and  even  Lyly,  though  his 
writings  were  once  the  delight  of  a  court,  and  apparently  per 
petuated  by  a  proverb,  is  now  scarcely  known  even  by  name. 
A  whole  crowd  of  authors  who  wrote  and  wrangled  at  the 
time,  have  likewise  gone  down,  with  all  their  writings  and 
their  controversies.  Wave  after  wave  of  succeeding  literature 
has  rolled  over  them,  until  they  are  buried  so  deep,  that  it  is 
only  now  and  then  that  some  industrious  diver  after  frag 
ments  of  antiquity  brings  up  a  specimen  for  the  gratification 
of  the  curious. 

15.  "For  my  part,"  I  continued,  "I  consider  this  muta 
bility  of  language  a  wise  precaution  of  Providence  for  the 
benefit  of  the  world  at  large,  and  of  authors  in  particular.  To 
reason  from  analogy,  we  daily  behold  the  varied  and  beautiful 
tribes  of  vegetables  springing  up,  flourishing,  adorning  the 
fields  for  a  short  time,  and  then  fading  into  dust,  to  make  way 
for  their  successors.  Were  not  this  the  case,  the  fecundity  of 
nature  would  be  a  grievance  instead  of  a  blessing.  The  earth 
would  groan  with  rank  and  excessive  vegetation,  and  its  sur 
face  become  a  tangled  wilderness.  In  like  manner  the  works 
of  genius  and  learning  decline  and  make  way  for  subsequent 
productions.  Language  gradually  varies,  and  with  it  fade 
away  the  writings  of  authors  who  have  flourished  their  allotted 
time;  otherwise,  the  creative  powers  of  genius  would  over 
stock  the  world,  and  the  mind  would  be  completely  bewil 
dered  in  the  endless  mazes  of  literature.  Formerly  there  were 
some  restraints  on  this  excessive  multiplication.  Works  had 
to  be  transcribed  by  hand,  which  was  a  slow  and  laborious 
operation ;  they  were  written  either  on  parchment,  which  was 
expensive,  so  that  one  work  was  often  erased  to  make  way 
for  another ;  or  on  papyrus,  which  was  fragile  and  extremely 
perishable.  Authorship  was  a  limited  and  unprofitable  craft, 

the  pith  of  morale  and  intellectual  virtues,  the  arme  of  Bellona  in  the 
field,  the  tonge  of  Suada  in  the  chamber,  the  sprite  of  Practise  in 
esse,  and  the  paragon  of  excellency  in  print.  —  Harvey  Pierce' s 
Supererogation. 


158  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

pursued  chiefly  by  monks  in  the  leisure  and  solitude  of  their 
cloisters.  The  accumulation  of  manuscripts  was  slow  and 
costly,  and  confined  almost  entirely  to  monasteries.  To  these 
circumstances  it  may,  in  some  measure,  be  owing  that  we 
have  not  been  inundated  by  the  intellect  of  antiquity;  that 
the  fountains  of  thought  have  not  been  broken  up,  and  modern 
genius  drowned  in  the  deluge.  But  the  inventions  of  paper 
and  the  press  have  put  an  end  to  all  these  restraints. 
They  have  made  every  one  a  writer,  and  enabled  every  mind 
to  pour  itself  into  print,  and  diffuse  itself  over  the  whole 
intellectual  world.  The  consequences  are  alarming.  The 
stream  of  literature  has  swollen  into  a  torrent  —  augmented 
into  a  river  —  expanded  into  a  sea.  A  few  centuries  since, 
five  or  six  hundred  manuscripts  constituted  a  great  library; 
but  what  would  you  say  to  libraries  such  as  actually  exist 
containing  three  or  four  hundred  thousand  volumes ;  legions 
of  authors  at  the  same  time  busy ;  and  the  press  going  on  with 
activity,  to  double  and  quadruple  the  number  ?  Unless  some 
unforeseen  mortality  should  break  out  among  the  progeny 
of  the  muse,  now  that  she  has  become  so  prolific,  I  tremble  for 
posterity.  I  fear  the  mere  fluctuation  of  language  will  not  be 
sufficient.  Criticism  may  do  much.  It  increases  with  the 
increase  of  literature,  and  resembles  one  of  those  salutary 
checks  on  population  spoken  of  by  economists.  All  possible 
encouragement,  therefore,  should  be  given  to  the  growth  of 
critics,  good  or  bad.  But  I  fear  all  will  be  in  vain ;  let  criticism 
do  what  it  may,  writers  will  write,  printers  will  print,  and  the 
world  will  inevitably  be  overstocked  with  good  books.  It 
will  soon  be  the  employment  of  a  lifetime  merely  to  learn 
their  names.  Many  a  man  of  passable  information,  at  the 
present  day,  reads  scarcely  anything  but  reviews ;  and  before 
long  a  man  of  erudition  will  be  little  better  than  a  mere  walk 
ing  catalogue." 

16.  "My  very  good  sir/'  said  the  little  quarto,  yawning 
most  drearily  in  my  face,  "excuse  my  interrupting  you,  but 
I  perceive  you  are  rather  given  to  prose.  I  would  ask  the  fate 
of  an  author  who  was  making  some  noise  just  as  I  left  the 
world.  His  reputation,  however,  was  considered  quite  tern- 


THE   MUTABILITY    OF   LITERATURE  159 

porary.  The  learned  shook  their  heads  at  him,  for  he  was 
a  poor  half-educated  varlet,  that  knew  little  of  Latin,  and 
nothing  of  Greek,  and  had  been  obliged  to  run  the  country 
for  deer-stealing.  I  think  his  name  was  Shakspeare.  I  pre 
sume,  he  soon  sunk  into  oblivion." 

17.  "On  the  contrary,  "  said  I,  "it  is  owing  to  that  very 
man  that  the  literature  of  his  period  has  experienced  a  dura 
tion  beyond  the  ordinary  term  of  English  literature.     There 
rise  authors  now  and  then,  who  seem  proof  against  the  muta 
bility  of  language,  because  they  have  rooted  themselves  in 
the  unchanging  principles  of  human  nature.     They  are  like 
gigantic  trees  that  we  sometimes  see  on  the  banks  of  a  stream ; 
which,  by  their  vast  and  deep  roots,  penetrating  through  the 
mere  surface,  and  laying  hold  on  the  very  foundations  of  the 
earth,  preserve  the  soil  around  them  from  being  swept  away 
by  the  ever-flowing  current  and  hold  up  many  a  neighboring 
plant,  and,  perhaps,  worthless  weed,  to  perpetuity.     Such 
is  the  case  with  Shakspeare,  whom  we  behold  defying  the 
encroachments  of  time,  retaining  in  modern  use  the  language 
and  literature  of  his  day,  and  giving  duration  to  many  an 
indifferent  author  merely  from  having  flourished  in  his  vicinity. 
But  even  he,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  gradually  assuming  the  tint  of 
age,  and  his  whole  form  is  overrun  by  a  profusion  of  commen 
tators,  who,  like  clambering  vines  end  creepers,  almost  bury 
the  noble  plant  that  upholds  them." 

18.  Here  the  little  quarto  began  to  heave  his  sides  and 
chuckle,  until  at  length  he  broke  out  in  a  plethoric  fit  of 
laughter  that  had  wellnigh  choked  him,  by  reason  of  his 
excessive  corpulency.     "Mighty  well!"  cried  he,  as  soon  as 
he  could  recover  breath,  "mighty  well!    and  so  you  would 
persuade  me  that  the  literature  of  an  'age  is  to  be  perpetuated 
by  a  vagabond  deer-stealer !    by  a  man  without  learning ; 
by  a  poet,  forsooth  —  a  poet."    And  here  he  wheezed  forth 
another  fit  of  laughter. 

19.  I  confess  that  I  felt  somewhat  nettled  at  this  rudeness, 
which,  however,  I  pardoned  on  account  of  his  having  flour 
ished  in  a  less  polished  age.     I  determined,  nevertheless,  not 
to  give  up  my  point. 


160  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

20.  "Yes,"  resumed  I,  positively,  "a  poet;  for  of  all 
writers  he  has  the  best  chance  for  immortality.  Others  may 
write  from  the  head,  but  he  writes  from  the  heart,  and  the 
heart  will  always  understand  him.  He  is  the  faithful  por- 
trayer  of  nature,  whose  features  are  always  the  same,  and 
always  interesting.  Prose-writers  are  voluminous  and 
unwieldy;  their  pages  are  crowded  with  common-places, 
and  their  thoughts  expanded  into  tediousness.  But  with 
the  true  poet  everything  is  terse,  touching,  or  brilliant.  He 
gives  the  choicest  thoughts  in  the  choicest  language.  He 
illustrates  them  by  everything  that  he  sees  most  striking  in 
nature  and  art.  He  enriches  them  by  pictures  of  human  life, 
such  as  it  is  passing  before  him.  His  writings,  therefore, 
contain  the  spirit,  the  aroma,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  of  the 
age  in  which  he  lives.  They  are  caskets  which  enclose 
within  a  small  compass  the  wealth  of  the  language,  —  its 
family  jewels,  which  are  thus  transmitted  in  a  portable  form 
to  posterity.  The  setting  may  occasionally  be  antiquated, 
and  require  now  and  then  to  be  renewed,  as  in  the  case  of 
Chaucer;  but  the  brilliancy  and  intrinsic  value  of  the  gems 
continue  unaltered.  Cast  a  look  back  over  the  long  reach 
of  literary  history.  What  vast  valleys  of  dulness,  filled 
with  monkish  legends  and  academical  controversies !  what 
bogs  of  theological  speculations !  what  dreary  wastes  of 
metaphysics.  Here  and  there  only  do  we  behold  the  heaven- 
illuminated  bards,  elevated  like  beacons  on  their  widely 
separate  heights,  to  transmit  the  pure  light  of  poetical  in 
telligence  from  age  to  age."  l 

1  Thorow  earth  and  waters  deepe, 

The  pen  by  skill  doth  passe  : 
And  featly  nyps  the  worldes  abuse, 

And  shoes  us  in  a  glasse, 
The  vertu  and  the  vice 

Of  every  wight  alyve  ; 
The  honey  comb  that  bee  doth  make 

Is  not  so  sweet  in  hyve, 
As  are  the  golden  leves 

That  drop  from  poet's  head  ! 
Which  doth  surmount  our  common  talke 

As  farre  as  dross  both  lead. 

Churchyard. 


THE  MUTABILITY   OF   LITERATURE  161 

21.  I  was  just  about  to  launch  forth  into  eulogiums  upon 
the  poets  of  the  day,  when  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door 
caused  me  to  turn  my  head.  It  was  the  verger,  who  came  to 
inform  me  that  it  was  time  to  close  the  library.  I  sought 
to  have  a  parting  word  with  the  quarto,  but  the  worthy  little 
tome  was  silent ;  the  clasps  were  closed ;  and  it  looked  per 
fectly  unconscious  of  all  that  had  passed.  I  have  been  to  the 
library  two  or  three  times  since,  and  have  endeavored  to  draw 
it  into  further  conversation,  but  in  vain;  and  whether  all 
this  rambling  colloquy  actually  took  place,  or  whether  it  was 
another  of  those  odd  day-dreams  to  which  I  am  subject,  I 
have  never  to  this  moment  been  able  to  discover. 


JOHN  BULL 

[COMMENT.  —  In  the  essay,  "John  Bull,"  Irving  makes  the 
subject  of  caricatures  in  general,  and  also  in  particular,  serve 
as  an  excuse  for  a  discourse  upon  the  traits  and  characteristics 
of  the  English.  He  discusses  first  the  nature  of  caricature,  then 
its  relation  to  real  traits  and  characteristics  in  the  originals; 
after  that,  he  speaks  of  the  use  of  caricatures  as  a  means  of 
defining  in  the  mind  of  an  alien  and  a  stranger  national  char 
acteristics.  From  this  beginning,  he  readily  introduces  his  own 
purpose  of  using  the  popular  caricature  of  John  Bull  as  a  text 
for  discourse  upon  the  peculiarities,  tastes,  manner  of  life,  and 
qualities  of  the  English.  In  a  recent  story,  "An  Enforced 
Habitation,"  Rudyard  Kipling  has  presented,  in  sharp  con 
trast,  national  characteristics  of  the  English  and  of  Americans. 
This  story  illustrates  more  than  one  of  the  qualities  remarked 
upon  by  Irving.  In  "Bracebridge  Hall  "  will  be  found  several 
essays  illustrating  Irving's  idea  of  the  English.  These  may  be 
read  for  comparison  and  reference,  especially,  "An  English 
Country  Gentleman,"  "English  Gravity,"  etc.  D.] 

An  old  song  made  by  an  aged  old  pate, 
Of  an  old  worshipful  gentleman  who  had  a  great  estate, 
That  kept  a  brave  old  house  at  a  bountiful  rate, 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gate. 
With  an  old  study  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  books, 
With  an  old  reverend  chaplain,  you  might  know  him  by  his  looks, 
With  an  old  buttery  hatch  worn  quite  off  the  hooks, 
And  an  old  kitchen  that  maintained  half-a-dozen  old  cooks. 
Like  an  old  courtier,  etc. 

—  OLD  SONG. 

1.  There  is  no  species  of  humor  in  which  the  English 
more  excel  than  that  which  consists  in  caricaturing  and  giving 
ludicrous  appellations,  or  nicknames.  In  this  way  they  have 
whimsically  designated,  not  merely  individuals,  but  nations ; 
and,  in  their  fondness  for  pushing  a  joke,  they  have  not  spared 
even  themselves.  One  would  think  that,  in  personifying 
itself,  a  nation  would  be  apt  to  picture  something  grand,  heroic, 
and  imposing;  but  it  is  characteristic  of  the  popular  humor  of 
the  English,  and  of  their  love  for  what  is  blunt,  comic,  and 

162 


JOHN  BULL  163 

familiar,  that  they  have  embodied  their  national  oddities 
in  the  figure  of  a  sturdy,  corpulent  old  fellow,  with  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  red  waistcoat,  leather  breeches,  and  stout  oaken 
cudgel.  Thus  they  have  taken  a  singular  delight  in  exhibit 
ing  their  most  private  foibles  in  a  laughable  point  of  view ; 
and  have  been  so  successful  in  their  delineations,  that  there 
is  scarcely  a  being  in  actual  existence  more  absolutely  present 
to  the  public  mind  than  that  eccentric  personage,  John  Bull. 

2.    Perhaps  the  continual  contemplation  of  the 
character  thus  drawn  of  them  has  contributed  to 


JOHN  BULL  AND  HIS  SAILORS,         JOHN  BULL  PLAYING  ON  THE 
1807  BASS  VIOLIN  (base  villain) 

From  caricatures  reproduced  in  Wright's   "England 
under  the  House  of  Hanover." 

fix  it  upon  the  nation,  and  thus  to  give  reality  to  what  at 
first  may  have  been  painted  in  a  great  measure  from  the 
imagination.  Men  are  apt  to  acquire  peculiarities  that  are 
continually  ascribed  to  them.  The  common  orders  of  Eng 
lish  seem  wonderfully  captivated  with  the  beau  ideal  which 
they  have  formed  of  John  Bull,  and  endeavor  to  act  up  to 
the  broad  caricature  that  is  perpetually  before  their  eyes. 
Unluckily,  they  sometimes  make  their  boasted  Bull-ism  an 
apology  for  their  prejudice  or  grossness;  and  this  I  have 
especially  noticed  among  those  truly  homebred  and  genuine 
sons  of  the  soil  who  have  never  migrated  beyond  the  sound 
of  Bow-bells.  If  one  of  these  should  be  a  little  uncouth  in 
speech,  and  apt  to  utter  impertinent  truths,  he  confesses 
that  he  is  a  real  John  Bull,  and  always  speaks  his  mind. 
If  he  now  and  then  flies  into  an  unreasonable  burst  of  pas 
sion  about  trifles,  he  observes,  that  John  Bull  is  a  choleric 


164  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

old  blade,  but  then  his  passion  is  over  in  a  moment,  and  he 
bears  no  malice.  If  he  betrays  a  coarseness  of  taste,  and  an 
insensibility  to  foreign  refinements,  he  thanks  heaven  for  his 
ignorance  —  he  is  a  plain  John  Bull,  and  has  no  relish  for 
frippery  and  knick-knacks.  His  \  ery  proneness  to  be  gulled 
by  strangers,  and  to  pay  extravagantly  for  absurdities,  is 
excused  under  the  plea  of  munificence  —  for  John  is  always 
more  generous  than  wise. 

3.  Thus,  under  the  name  of  John  Bull,  he  will  contrive 
to  argue  every  fault  into  a  merit,  and  will  frankly  convict 
himself  of  being  the  honestest  fellow  in  existence. 

4.  However  little,  therefore,  the  character  may  have  suited 
in  the  first  instance,  it  has  gradually  adapted  itself  to  the 
nation,  or  rather  they  have  adapted  themselves  to  each  other ; 
and  a  stranger  who  wishes  to  study  English  peculiarities,  may 
gather  much   valuable   information  from   the   innumerable 
portraits  of  John  Bull,  as  exhibited  in  the  windows  of  the 
caricature-shops.     Still,  however,  he  is  one  of  those  fertile 
humorists,  that  are  continually  throwing  out  new  portraits, 
and  presenting  different  aspects  from  different  points  of  view ; 
and,  often  as  he  has  been  described,  I  cannot  resist  the  temp 
tation  to  give  a  slight  sketch  of  him,  such  as  he  has  met  my  eye. 

5.  John  Bull,   to  all  appearance,  is  a  plain,   downright 
matter-of-fact  fellow,  with  much  less  of  poetry  about  him  than 
rich  prose.     There  is  little  of  romance  in  his  nature,  but  a 
vast  deal  of  strong  natural  feeling.     He  excels  in  humor  more 
than  in  wit ;  is  jolly  rather  than  gay ;  melancholy  rather  than 
morose;  can  easily  be  moved  to  a  sudden  tear,  or  surprised 
into  a  broad  laugh ;  but  he  loathes  sentiment,  and  has  no 
turn  for  light  pleasantry.     He  is  a  boon-companion,  if  you 
allow  him  to  have  his  humor,  and  to  talk  about  himself ;  and 
he  will  stand  by  a  friend  in  a  quarrel,  with  life  and  purse, 
however  soundly  he  may  be  cudgelled. 

6.  In  this  last  respect,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  has  a  propensity 
to  be  somewhat  too  ready.     He  is  a  busy-minded  personage, 
who  thinks  not  merely  for  himself  and  family,  but  for  all  the 
country  round,  and  is  most  generously  disposed  to  be  every 
body's  champion.     He  is  continually  volunteering  his  services 


JOHN   BULL  165 

to  settle  his  neighbors'  affairs,  and  takes  it  in  great  dudgeon 
if  they  engage  in  any  matter  of  consequence  without  asking 
his  advice ;  though  he  seldom  engages  in  any  friendly  office  of 
the  kind  without  finishing  by  getting  into  a  squabble  with  all 
parties,  and  then  railing  bitterly  at  their  ingratitude.  He 
unluckily  took  lessons  in  his  youth  in  the  noble  science  of 
defence,  and  having  accomplished  himself  in  the  use  of  his 
limbs  and  his  weapons,  and  become  a  perfect  master  at  box 
ing  and  cudgel-play,  he  has  had  a  troublesome  life  of  it  ever 
since.  He  cannot  hear  of  a  quarrel  between  the  most  distant 
of  his  neighbors,  but  he  begins  incontinently  to  fumble  with 
the  head  of  his  cudgel,  and  consider  whether  his  interest 
or  honor  does  not  require  that  he  should  meddle  in  the  broil. 
Indeed  he  has  extended  his  relations  of  pride  and  policy  so 
completely  over  the  whole  country,  that  no  event  can  take 
place,  without  infringing  some  of  his  finely-spun  rights  and 
dignities.  Couched  in  his  little  domain,  with  these  filaments 
stretching  forth  in  every  direction,  he  is  like  some  choleric, 
bottle-bellied  old  spider,  who  has  woven  his  web  over  a  whole 
chamber,  so  that  a  fly  cannot  buzz,  nor  a  breeze  blow,  without 
startling  his  repose,  and  causing  him  to  sally  forth  wrathfully 
from  his  den. 

7.  Though  really  a  good-hearted,  good-tempered  old  fellow 
at  bottom,  yet  he  is  singularly  fond  of  being  in  the  midst  of 
contention.  It  is  one  of  his  peculiarities,  however,  that  he 
only  relishes  the  beginning  of  an  affray ;  he  always  goes  into 
a  fight  with  alacrity,  but  comes  out  of  it  grumbling  even  when 
victorious ;  and  though  no  one  fights  with  more  obstinacy  to 
carry  a  contested  point,  yet,  when  the  battle  is  over,  and  he 
comes  to  the  reconciliation,  he  is  so  much  taken  up  with  the 
mere  shaking  of  hands,  that  he  is  apt  to  let  his  antagonist 
pocket  all  that  they  have  been  quarrelling  about.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  fighting  that  he  ought  so  much  to  be  on  his  guard 
against,  as  making  friends.  It  is  difficult  to  cudgel  him  out 
of  a  farthing ;  but  put  him  in  a  good-humor,  and  you  may  bar 
gain  him  out  of  all  the  money  in  his  pocket.  He  is  like  a 
stout  ship,  which  will  weather  the  roughest  storm  uninjured, 
but  roll  its  masts  overboard  in  the  succeeding  calm. 


166  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

8.  He  is  a  little  fond  of  playing  the  magnifico  abroad ;   of 
pulling  out  a  long  purse ;  flinging  his  money  bravely  about  at 
boxing-matches,  horse-races,  cock-fights,  and  carrying  a  high 
head  among  "  gentlemen  of  the  fancy ;"  but  immediately  after 
one  of  these  fits  of  extravagance  he  will  be  taken  with  violent 
qualms  of  economy;    stop  short  at  the  most  trivial  expen 
diture;   talk  desperately  of  being  ruined  and  brought  upon 
the  parish;    and,  in  such  moods,  will  not  pay  the  smallest 
tradesman's  bill  without  violent  altercation.     He  is  in  fact 
the  most  punctual  and  discontented  paymaster  in  the  world ; 
drawing  his  coin  out  of  his  breeches  pocket  with  infinite 
reluctance;    paying  to  the  uttermost  farthing,  but  accom 
panying  every  guinea  with  a  growl. 

9.  With  all  his  talk  of  economy,  however,  he  is  a  bountiful 
provider,  and  a  hospitable  housekeeper.     His  economy  is  of 
a  whimsical  kind,  its  chief  object  being  to  devise  how  he  may 
afford  to  be  extravagant ;  for  he  will  begrudge  himself  a  beef 
steak  and  pint  of  port  one  day,  that  he  may  roast  an  ox 
whole,  broach  a  hogshead  of  ale,  and  treat  all  his  neighbors 
on  the  next. 

10.  His  domestic  establishment  is  enormously  expensive; 
not  so  much  from  any  great  outward  parade,  as  from  the  great 
consumption  of  solid  beef  and  pudding;  the  vast  number  of 
followers  he  feeds  and  clothes;   and  his  singular  disposition 
to  pay  hugely  for  small  services.     He  is  a  most  kind  and  indul 
gent  master,   and,  provided  his  servants  humor  his  pecu 
liarities,  flatter  his  vanity  a  little  now  and  then,  and  do  not 
peculate  grossly  on  him  before  his  face,  they  may  manage  him 
to  perfection.     Everything  that  lives  on  him  seems  to  thrive 
and  grow  fat.  His  house-servants  are  well  paid,  and  pampered, 
and  have  little  to  do.     His  horses  are  sleek  and  lazy,  and 
prance  slowly  before  his  state  carriage;   and  his  house-dogs 
sleep  quietly  about  the  door,  and  will  hardly  bark  at  a  house 
breaker. 

11.  His  family  mansion  is  an  old  castellated  manor-house, 
gray  with  age,  and  of  a  most  venerable  though  weather-beaten 
appearance.     It  has  been  built  upon  no  regular  plan,  but  is 
a  vast  accumulation  of  parts,  erected  in  various  tastes  and 


JOHN    BULL  167 

ages.  The  centre  bears  evident  traces  of  Saxon  architecture, 
and  is  as  solid  as  ponderous  stone  and  old  English  oak  can 
make  it.  Like  all  the  relics  of  that  style,  it  is  full  of  obscure 
passages,  intricate  mazes,  and  dusky  chambers;  and  though 
these  have  been  partially  lighted  up  in  modern  days,  yet  there 
are  many  places  where  you  must  still  grope  in  the  dark. 
Additions  have  been  made  to  the  original  edifice  from  time  to 
time,  and  great  alterations  have  taken  place;  towers  and 
battlements  have  been  erected  during  wars  and  tumults; 
wings  built  in  time  of  peace;  and  outhouses,  lodges,  and 
offices  run  up  according  to  the  whim  or  convenience  of  dif 
ferent  generations,  until  it  has  become  one  of  the  most  spa 
cious,  rambling  tenements  imaginable.  An  entire  wing  is 
taken  up  with  the  family  chapel,  a  reverend  pile,  that  must 
have  been  exceedingly  sumptuous,  and,  indeed,  in  spite  of 
having  been  altered  and  simplified  at  various  periods,  has  still 
a  look  of  solemn  religious  pomp.  Its  walls  within  are  storied 
with  the  monuments  of  John's  ancestors;  and  it  is  snugly 
fitted  up  with  soft  cushions  and  well-lined  chairs,  where  such 
of  his  family  as  are  inclined  to  church  services  may  doze 
comfortably  in  the  discharge  of  their  duties. 

12.  To  keep  up  this  chapel  has  cost  John  much  money; 
but  he  is  stanch  in  his  religion,  and  piqued  in  his  zeal,  from  the 
circumstance  that  many  dissenting  chapels  have  been  erected 
in  his  vicinity,  and  several  of  his  neighbors,  with  whom  he  has 
had  quarrels,  are  strong  Papists. 

13.  To  do  the  duties  of  the  chapel  he  maintains  at  a  large 
expense,  a  pious  and  portly  family  chaplain.     He  is  a  most 
learned  and  decorous  personage,  and  a  truly  well-bred  Chris 
tian,  who  always  backs  the  old   gentleman  in  his  opinions, 
winks  discreetly  at  his  little  peccadilloes,  rebukes  the  children 
when  refractory,  and  is  of  great  use  in  exhorting  the  tenants 
to  read  their  Biblies,  say  their  prayers,  and,  above  all,  to  pay 
their  rents  punctually  and  without  grumbling. 

14.  The  family  apartments  are  in  a  very  antiquated  taste, 
somewhat  heavy,  and  often    inconvenient,  but  full  of   the 
solemn  magnificence  of  former  times;    fitted  up  with  rich 
though  faded  tapestry,   unwieldy  furniture,   and  loads   of 


168  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

massy  gorgeous  old  plate.  The  vast  fireplaces,  ample 
kitchens,  extensive  cellars,  and  sumptuous  banqueting  halls, 
all  speak  of  the  roaring  hospitality  of  days  of  yore,  of  which 
the  modern  festivity  at  the  manor-house  is  but  a  shadow. 
There  are,  however,  complete  suites  of  rooms  apparently 
deserted  and  timeworn;  and  towers  and  turrets  that  are 
tottering  to  decay;  so  that  in  high  winds  there  is  danger  of 
their  tumbling  about  the  ears  of  the  household. 

15.  John  has  frequently  been  advised  to  have  the  old 
edifice  thoroughly  overhauled ;  and  to  have  some  of  the  use 
less  parts  pulled  down,  and  the  others  strengthened  with  their 
materials ;  but  the  old  gentleman  always  grows  testy  on  this 
subject.     He  swears  the  house  is  an  excellent  house  —  that 
it  is  tight  and  weather-proof,  and  not  to  be  shaken  by  tem 
pests —  that  it  has  stood  for  several  hundred  years,  and, 
therefore,  is  not  likely  to  tumble  down  now  —  that,  as  to  its 
being  inconvenient,  his  family  is  accustomed  to  the  incon 
veniences  and  would  not  be  comfortable  without  them  — • 
that,  as  to  its  unwieldy  size  and  irregular  construction,  these 
result  from  its  being  the  growth  of  centuries,  and  being  im 
proved  by  the  wisdom  of  every  generation  —  that  an  old 
family,  like  his,  requires  a  large  house  to  dwell  in;  new,  up 
start  families  may  live  in  modern  cottages  and  snug  boxes; 
but  an  old  English  family  should  inhabit  an  old  English 
manor-house.     If  you  point  out  any  part  of  the  building  as 
superfluous,  he  insists  that  it  is  material  to  the  strength  or 
decoration  of  the  rest,  and  the  harmony  of  the  whole;   and 
swears  that  the  parts  are  so  built  into  each  other,  that,  if 
you  pull  down  one,  you  run  the  risk  of  having  the  whole 
about  your  ears. 

16.  The  secret  of  the  matter  is,  that  John  has  a  great  dis 
position  to  protect  and  patronize.     He  thinks  it  indispensable 
to  the  dignity  of  an  ancient  and  honorable  family  to  be  boun 
teous  in  its  appointments,  and  to  be  eaten  up  by  dependents ; 
and  so,  partly  from  pride  and  partly  from  kind-heartedness, 
he  makes  it  a  rule  always  to  give  shelter  and  maintenance  to 
his  superannuated  servants. 

17.  The  consequence  is,  that,  like  many  other  venerable 


JOHN   BULL  169 

family  establishments,  his  manor  is  encumbered  by  old 
retainers  whom  he  cannot  turn  off,  and  an  old  style  which  he 
cannot  lay  down.  His  mansion  is  like  a  great  hospital  of 
invalids,  and  with  all  its  magnitude,  is  not  a  whit  too  large  for 
its  inhabitants.  Not  a  nook  or  corner  but  is  of  use  in  housing 
some  useless  personage.  Groups  of  veteran  beef -eaters,  gouty 
pensioners,  and  retired  heroes  of  the  buttery  and  the  larder, 
are  seen  lolling  about  its  walls,  crawling  over  its  lawns, 
dozing  under  its  trees,  or  sunning  themselves  upon  the  benches 
at  its  doors.  Every  office  and  out-house  is  garrisoned  by  these 
supernumeraries  and  their  families;  for  they  are  amazingly 
prolific,  and  when  they  die  off,  are  sure  to  leave  John  a 
legacy  of  hungry  mouths  to  be  provided  for.  A  mattock 
cannot  be  struck  against  the  most  mouldering  tumble-down 
tower,  but  out  pops,  from  some  cranny  or  loop-hole,  the  gray 
pate  of  some  superannuated  hanger-on,  who  has  lived  at 
John's  expense  all  his  life,  and  makes  the  most  grievous  out 
cry  at  their  pulling  down  the  roof  from  over  the  head  of  a 
worn-out  servant  of  the  family.  This  is  an  appeal  that  John's 
honest  heart  never  can  withstand;  so  that  a  man,  who  has 
faithfully  eaten  his  beef  and  pudding  all  his  life,  is  sure  to  be 
rewarded  with  a  pipe  and  tankard  in  his  old  days. 

18.  A  great  part  of  his  park,  also,  is  turned  into  paddocks, 
where  his  broken-down  chargers  are  turned  loose  to  graze  un 
disturbed  for  the  remainder  of  their  existence,  —  a  worthy 
example  of  grateful  recollection,  which  if  some  of  his  neighbors 
were  to  imitate,  would  not  be  to  their  discredit.     Indeed,  it 
is  one  of  his  great  pleasures  to  point  out  these  old  steeds  to  his 
visitors,  to  dwell  on  their  good  qualities,  extol  their  past  ser 
vices,  and  boast,  with  some  little  vainglory,  of  the  perilous 
adventures  and  hardy  exploits  through  which  they  have 
carried  him. 

19.  He  is  given,  however,  to  indulge  his  veneration  for 
family  usages,  and  family  incumbrances,  to  a  whimsical  ex 
tent.     His  manor  is  infested  by  gangs  of  gypsies ;  yet  he  will 
not  suffer  them  to  be  driven  off,  because  they  have  infested 
the  place  time  out  of  mind,  and  been  regular  poachers  upon 
every  generation  of  the  family.     He  will  scarcely  permit  a 


170  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

dry  branch  to  be  lopped  from  the  great  trees  that  surround 
the  house,  lest  it  should  molest  the  rooks,  that  have  bred  there 
for  centuries.  Owls  have  taken  possession  of  the  dove-cot; 
but  they  are  hereditary  owls,  and  must  not  be  disturbed. 
Swallows  have  nearly  choked  up  every  chimney  with  their 
nests ;  martins  build  in  every  frieze  and  cornice ;  crows  flutter 
about  the  towers,  and  perch  on  every  weathercock;  and  old 
gray-headed  rats  may  be  seen  in  every  quarter  of  the  house, 
running  in  and  out  of  their  holes  undauntedly  in  broad  day 
light.  In  short,  John  has  such  a  reverence  for  everything 
that  has  been  long  in  the  family,  that  he  will  not  hear  even 
of  abuses  being  reformed,  because  they  are  good  old  family 
abuses. 

20.  All  these  whims  and  habits  have  concurred  wofully 
to  drain  the  old  gentleman's  purse ;  and  as  he  prides  himself 
on  punctuality  in  money  matters  and  wishes  to  maintain  his 
credit  in  the  neighborhood,  they  have  caused  him  great  per 
plexity  in  meeting  his  engagements.  This,  too,  has  been 
increased  by  the  altercations  and  heart-burnings  which  are 
continually  taking  place  in  his  family.  His  children  have 
been  brought  up  to  different  callings,  and  are  of  different  ways 
of  thinking ;  and  as  they  have  always  been  allowed  to  speak 
their  minds  freely,  they  do  not  fail  to  exercise  the  privilege 
most  clamorously  in  the  present  posture  of  his  affairs.  Some 
stand  up  for  the  honor  of  the  race,  and  are  clear  that  the  old 
establishment  should  be  kept  up  in  all  its  state,  whatever  may 
be  the  cost;  others,  who  are  more  prudent  and  considerate, 
entreat  the  old  gentleman  to  retrench  his  expenses,  and  to  put 
his  whole  system  of  housekeeping  on  a  more  moderate  footing. 
He  has,  indeed,  at  times,  seemed  inclined  to  listen  to  their 
opinions,  but  their  wholesome  advice  has  been  completely 
defeated  by  the  obstreperous  conduct  of  one  of  his  sons. 
This  is  a  noisy,  rattle-pated  fellow,  of  rather  low  habits,  who 
neglects  his  business  to  frequent  ale-houses,  is  the  orator  of 
village  clubs,  and  a  complete  oracle  among  the  poorest  of  his 
father's  tenants.  No  sooner  does  he  hear  any  of  his  brothers 
mention  reform  or  retrenchment,  than  up  he  jumps,  takes  the 
words  out  of  their  mouths,  and  roars  out  for  an  overturn. 


JOHN    BULL  171 

When  his  tongue  is  once  going,  nothing  can  stop  it.  He  rants 
about  the  room;  hectors  the  old  man  about  his  spendthrift 
practices;  ridicules  his  tastes  and  pursuits;  insists  that  he 
shall  turn  the  old  servants  out-of-doors;  give  the  broken- 
down  horses  to  the  hounds;  send  the  fat  chaplain  packing, 
and  take  a  field-preacher  in  his  place,  —  nay,  that  the  whole 
family  mansion  shall  be  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  a  plain 
one  of  brick  and  mortar  built  in  its  place.  He  rails  at  every 
social  entertainment  and  family  festivity,  and  skulks  away 
growling  to  the  ale-house  whenever  an  equipage  drives  up  to 
the  door.  Though  constantly  complaining  of  the  emptiness 
of  his  purse,  yet  he  scruples  not  to  spend  all  his  pocket- 
money  in  these  tavern  convocations,  and  even  runs  up 
scores  for  the  liquor  over  which  he  preaches  about  his 
father's  extravagance. 

21.  It  may  readily  be  imagined  how  little  such  thwarting 
agrees  with  the  old  cavalier's  fiery  temperament.     He  has 
become  so  irritable,  from  repeated  crossings,  that  the  mere 
mention  of  retrenchment  or  reform  is  a  signal  for  a  brawl 
between  him  and  the  tavern  oracle.     As  the  latter  is  too 
sturdy  and  refractory  for   paternal  discipline,  having  grown 
out  of  all  fear  of  the  cudgel,  they  have  frequent  scenes  of 
wordy  warfare,  which  at  times  run  so  high,  that  John  is 
fain  to  call  in  the  aid  of  his  son  Tom,  an  officer  who  has 
served  abroad,  but  is  at  present  living  at  home,  on  half- 
pay.    This  last  is  sure  to  stand  by  the  old  gentleman,  right 
or  wrong ;  likes  nothing  so  much  as  a  racketing,  roistering 
life ;  and  is  ready  at  a  wink  or  nod,  to  out  sabre,  and  flour 
ish  it  over  the  orator's  head,  if  he  dares  to  array  himself 
against  paternal  authority. 

22.  These  family  dissensions,  as  usual,  have  got  abroad,  and 
are  rare  food  for  scandal  in  John's  neighborhood.     People 
begin  to  look  wise,  and  shake  their  heads,  whenever  his  affairs 
are  mentioned.     They  all  "hope  that  matters  are  not  so  bad 
with  him  as  represented ;  but  when  a  man's  own  children  be 
gin  to  rail  at  his  extravagance,  things  must  be  badly  managed. 
They  understand  he  is  mortgaged  over  head  and  ears,  and 
is  continually  dabbling  with  money-lenders.     He  is  certainly 


172  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

an  open-handed  old  gentleman,  but  they  fear  he  has  lived 
too  fast;  indeed,  they  never  knew  any  good  come  of  this 
fondness  for  hunting,  racing,  revelling,  and  prize-fighting. 
In  short,  Mr.  Bull's  estate  is  a  very  fine  one,  and  has  been  in 
the  family  a  long  time ;  but,  for  all  that,  they  have  known 
many  finer  estates  come  to  the  hammer." 

23.  What  is  worst  of  all,  is  the  effect  which  these  pecuniary 
embarrassments  and  domestic  feuds  have  had  on  the  poor 
man  himself.     Instead  of  that  jolly  round  corporation,  and 
smug  rosy  face,  which  he  used  to  present,  he  has  of  late  be 
come  as  shrivelled  and  shrunk  as  a  frost-bitten  apple.     His 
scarlet  gold-laced  waistcoat,  which  bellied  out  so  bravely  in 
those  prosperous  days  when  he  sailed  before  the  wind,  now 
hangs  loosely  about  him  like  a  mainsail  in  a  calm.     His 
leather  breeches  are  all  in  folds  and  wrinkles,  and  apparently 
have  much  ado  to  hold  up  the  boots  that  yawn  on  both  sides 
of  his  once  sturdy  legs. 

24.  Instead  of  strutting  about  as  formerly,  with  his  three- 
cornered  hat  on  one  side ;  flourishing  his  cudgel,  and  bringing 
it  down  every  moment  with  a  hearty  thump  upon  the  ground ; 
looking  every  one  sturdily  in  the  face,  and  trolling  out  a  stave 
of  a  catch  or  a  drinking  song;   he  now  goes  about  whistling 
thoughtfully  to    himself,  with  his  head  drooping  down,  his 
cudgel  tucked  under  his  arm,  and  his  hands  thrust  to  the  bot 
tom  of  his  breeches  pockets,  which  are  evidently  empty. 

25.  Such  is  the  plight  of  honest  John  Bull  at  present ;  yet 
for  all  this  the  old  fellow's  spirit  is  as  tall  and  as  gallant  as 
ever.     If  you  drop  the  least  expression  of  sympathy  or  con 
cern,  he  takes  fire  in  an  instant ;  swears  that  he  is  the  richest 
and  stoutest  fellow  in  the  country ;  talks  of  laying  out  large 
sums  to  adorn  his  house  or  buy  another  estate ;   and  with  a 
valiant  swagger  and  grasping  of  his  cudgel,  longs  exceedingly 
to  have  another  bout  at  quarter-staff. 

26.  Though  there  may  be  something  rather  whimsical  in 
all  this,  yet  I  confess  I  cannot  look  upon  John's  situation 
without  strong  feelings  of  interest.     With  all  his  odd  humors 
and  obstinate  prejudices,  he  is  a  sterling-hearted  old  blade. 
He  may  not  be  so  wonderfully  fine  a  fellow  as  he  thinks  him- 


JOHN   BULL  173 

self,  but  he  is  at  least  twice  as  good  as  his  neighbors  represent 
him.  His  virtues  are  all  his  own;  all  plain,  homebred,  and 
unaffected.  His  very  faults  smack  of  the  raciness  of  his  good 
qualities.  His  extravagance  savors  of  his  generosity;  his 
quarrelsomeness  of  his  courage;  his  credulity  of  his  open 
faith ;  his  vanity  of  his  pride ;  and  his  bluntness  of  his  sin 
cerity.  They  are  all  the  redundancies  of  a  rich  and  liberal 
character.  He  is  like  his  own  oak,  rough  without,  but  sound 
and  solid  within;  whose  bark  abounds  with  excrescences  in 
proportion  to  the  growth  and  grandeur  of  the  timber;  and 
whose  branches  make  a  fearful  groaning  and  murmuring  in 
the  least  storm,  from  their  very  magnitude  and  luxuriance. 
There  is  something,  too,  in  the  appearance  of  his  old  family 
mansion  that  is  extremely  poetical  and  picturesque;  and, 
as  long  as  it  can  be  rendered  comfortably  habitable,  I  should 
almost  tremble  to  see  it  meddled  with,  during  the  present 
conflict  of  tastes  and  opinions.  Some  of  his  advisers  are 
no  doubt  good  architects,  that  might  be  of  service ;  but  many, 
I  fear,  are  mere  levellers,  who,  when  they  had  once  got  to 
work  with  their  mattocks  on  this  venerable  edifice,  would 
never  stop  until  they  had  brought  it  to  the  ground,  and  per 
haps  buried  themselves  among  the  ruins.  All  that  I  wish  is, 
that  John's  present  troubles  may  teach  him  more  prudence 
in  future ; — that  he  may  cease  to  distress  his  mind  about  other 
people's  affairs;  that  he  may  give  up  the  fruitless  attempt  to 
promote  the  good  of  his  neighbors,  and  the  peace  and  hap 
piness  of  the  world,  by  dint  of  the  cudgel ;  that  he  may  remain 
quietly  at  home ;  gradually  get  his  house  into  repair ;  culti 
vate  his  rich  estate  according  to  his  fancy;  husband  his  in 
come  —  if  he  thinks  proper ;  bring  his  unruly  children  into 
order  —  if  he  can;  renew  the  jovial  scenes  of  ancient  pros 
perity;  and  long  enjoy,  on  his  paternal  lands,  a  green,  an 
honorable,  and  a  merry  old  age. 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

[COMMENT.  —  One  of  the  earliest  excursions  undertaken  by 
Irving  after  his  return  to  England  included  Shakespeare's 
birthplace,  and  it  seems  probable  that  he  revisited  a  spot  so 
congenial  to  his  humor  more  than  once  before  the  composition 
of  "  Stratford-on-Avon,"  in  1820.  Liverpool,  Birmingham,  and 
London  were,  perforce,  centres  of  interest  between  which  he 
divided  his  time,  and  whichever  way  he  travelled,  it  was  not 
difficult  to  halt  for  a  night  at  the  familiar  Red  Horse  Inn, 
where  he  might  "snatch  a  momentary  pleasure"  in  compensa 
tion  for  the  irksome  duties  of  this  period  of  his  life. 

If  we  may  trust  a  realist  so  prone  to  indulge  the  humors  of 
the  hour,  the  visit  which  our  author  chose  as  frame  and  setting 
of  the  descriptive  narrative  of  the  essay  was  made  in  March. 
In  the"  Life  and  Letters,"  we  merely  read  that  in  March,  1820, 
Irving  visited  Birmingham,  returning  to  London  at  the  very  end 
of  the  month.  Number  seven  of  "  The  Sketch-Book,"  includ 
ing  this  essay,  was  despatched  to  New  York  June  28,  and  pub 
lished  in  September  of  that  year. 

In  1832,  Irving  revisited  this  favorite  spot  with  Mr.  Martin 
Van  Buren  and  his  son;  he  writes:  "We  next  passed  a  night 
and  a  part  of  the  next  day  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  visiting  the 
house  where  Shakespeare  was  born  and  the  church  where  he  lies 
buried.  We  were  quartered  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Red  Horse, 
where  I  found  the  same  obliging  little  landlady  that  kept  it  at 
the  time  of  the  visit  recorded  in  'The  Sketch-Book.'  You 
cannot  imagine  what  a  fuss  the  little  woman  made  when  she 
found  out  who  I  was.  She  showed  me  the  room  I  had  occupied, 
in  which  she  had  hung  up  my  engraved  likeness,  and  she  pro 
duced  a  poker  which  was  locked  up  in  the  archives  of  her 
house,  on  which  she  had  caused  to  be  engraved,  'Geoffrey 
Crayon's  Sceptre.'  "  — "  Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  ii,  p.  220. 

In  telling  the  story  of  an  excursion  for  sight-seeing,  Irving 
usually  follows  a  definite  order :  first,  the  place  and  the  general 
description  of  it,  or  the  reason  for  interest  in  it;  secondly,  the 
person  by  whom  it  is  shown;  thirdly,  special  points  of  interest 
which  could  only  be  communicated  by  the  guide;  fourthly,  the 
visitor,  his  opinions,  reflections,  etc.;  and,  finally,  some  sug 
gestion  which  may  serve  as  transition  to  the  next  division  of 
the  essay.  This  general  outline  varies  with  the  nature  of  the  sub 
ject;  for  instance,  in  "  Stratford-on-Avon,"  the  presence  of  the 

174 


STRATFOKD-ON-AVON  175 

traveller  at  the  Red  Horse  Inn  with  a  guide-book  tells  the  reader 
at  once  where  the  author  is  and  what  he  came  for.  The  guide 
book  suggests,  also,  the  order  of  his  investigations.  The  evi 
dence  of  method  in  these  essays  is  all  the  more  striking  for 
omissions  and  modifications. 

Were  "  Stratford-on-Av'on "  no  more  than  the  record  of  an 
individual  tourist,  sight-seeing,  guide-book  in  hand,  it  would 
long  since  have  yielded  place  to  other  and  later  travels  of  the 
same  sort;  but  some  touch  of  personality  in  the  narrative 
transforms  the  guide  into  the  friend,  some  gift  of  the  imagina 
tion  leads  us  to  forget  that  we  are  hastily  reviewing  tangible 
objects  with  curious  gaze  —  for  the  hour,  we  linger  fondly  with 
Irving,  and  walk  under  "the  wizard  influence  of  Shakespeare." 
Nor  does  it  disturb  us  that  we  pass,  in  a  breath,  from  real  inci 
dents  of  the  poet's  boyhood,' to  scenes  that  he  himself  created 
and  placed  in  familiar  surroundings.  The  young  poacher  and 
Justice  Shallow  are  alike  real.  In  paragraph  37,  Irving  con 
fesses  to  the  mood  that  ruled  the  hour  in  his  brain,  and  ex 
presses  in  his  own  words  the  point  of  view  from  which  the 
essay  was  written. 

Perhaps  pur  traveller  found  a  starting-point  for  his  fancies 
in  the  rumination  of  an  older  traveller  of  whom  he  was  fond. 
Goldsmith  tells  how,  "  by  a  pleasant  fire,  in  the  very  room  where 
old  Sir  John  Falstaff  cracked  his  jokes,  in  the  very  chair  which 
was  sometimes  honored  by  Prince  Henry,  he  sat  and  ruminated 
.  .  .  and  transported  his  imagination  back  to  the  times  when 
the  prince  and  he  gave  life  to  the  revel."  In  the  very  same 
humor,  Irving  writes  of  "stretching  himself  before  an  inn  fire," 
of  finding  in  an  old  arm-chair  his  throne;  and  it  is,  indeed,  the 
same  old  Sir  John  who  rises  from  the  shades  of  the  past  to 
furnish  forth  his  fancies.  D.] 

Thou  soft-flowing  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream 

Of  things  more  than  mortal  sweet  Shakspeare  would  dream ; 

The  fairies  by  moonlight  dance  round  his  green  bed, 

For  hallo w'd  the  turf  is  which  pillow 'd  his  head. 

—  GARRICK. 

1.  To  a  homeless  man,  who  has  no  spot  on  this  wide  world 
which  he  can  truly  call  his  own,  there  is  a  momentary  feeling 
of  something  like  independence  and  territorial  consequence, 
when,  after  a  weary  day's  travel,  he  kicks  off  his  boots,  thrusts 
his  feet  into  slippers,  and  stretches  himself  before  an  inn  fire. 
Let  the  world  without  go  as  it  may ;  let  kingdoms  rise  or  fall, 
so  long  as  he  has  the  wherewithal  to  pay  his  bill,  he  is,  for 
the  time  being,  the  very  monarch  of  all  he  surveys.  The 


176 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


arm-chair  is  his  throne,  the  poker  his  sceptre,  and  the  little 
parlor,  some  twelve  feet  square,  his  undisputed  empire.  It 
is  a  morsel  of  certainty,  snatched  from  the  midst  of  the  un 
certainties  of  life ;  it  is  a  sunny  moment  gleaming  out  kindly 
on  a  cloudy  day ;  and  he  who  has  advanced  some  way  on  a 
pilgrimage  of  existence,  knows  the  importance  of  husbanding 


IRVING'S  ROOM  AT  THE  RED  HORSE  INN 


even  morsels  and  moments  of  enjoyment.  "  Shall  I  not  take 
mine  ease  in  mine  inn?"  thought  I,  as  I  gave  the  fire  a  stir, 
lolled  back  in  my  elbow-chair,  and  cast  a  complacent  look 
about  the  little  parlor  of  the  Red  Horse,  at  Stratford-on 
Avon. 

2.  The  words  of  sweet  Shakspeare  were  just  passing 
through  my  mind  as  the  clock  struck  midnight  from  the  tower 
of  the  church  in  which  he  lies  buried.  There  was  a  gentle 
tap  at  the  door,  and  a  pretty  chambermaid,  putting  in  her 
smiling  face,  inquired,  with  a  hesitating  air,  whether  I  had 
rung.  I  understood  it  as  a  modest  hint  that  it  was  time  to 
retire.  My  dream  of  absolute  dominion  was  at  an  end;  so 
abdicating  my  throne,  like  a  prudent  potentate,  to  avoid  being 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  177 

deposed,  and  putting  the  Stratford  Guide-Book  under  my 
arm,  as  a  pillow  companion,  I  went  to  bed,  and  dreamt  all 
night  of  Shakspeare,  the  jubilee,  and  David  Garrick. 

3.  The  next  morning  was  one  of  those  quickening  mornings 
which  we  sometimes  have  in  early  spring ;  for  it  was  about  the 
middle  of  March.     The  chills  of  a  long  winter  had  suddenly 
given  way;   the  north  wind  had  spent  its  last  gasp;   and  a 
mild  air  came  stealing  from  the  west,  breathing  the  breath 
of  life  into  nature,  and  wooing  every  bud  and  flower  to  burst 
forth  into  fragrance  and  beauty. 

4.  I  had  come  to  Stratford  on  a  poetical  pilgrimage.    My 
first  visit  was  to  the  house  where  Shakspeare  was  born,  and 
where,  according  to  tradition,  he  was  brought  up  to  his  father's 
craft  of  wool-combing.     It  is  a  small,  mean-looking  edifice 
of  wood  and  plaster,  a  true  nestling-place  of  genius,  which 
seems  to  delight  in  hatching  its  offspring  in  by-corners.    The 
walls  of  its  squalid  chambers  are  covered  with  names  and 
inscriptions  in  every  language,  by  pilgrims  of  all  nations, 
ranks,   and   conditions,   from    the   prince   to   the   peasant; 
and   present  a  simple,  but  striking  instance  of  the  sponta 
neous  and  universal  homage  of  mankind  to  the  great  poet  of 
nature. 

5.  The  house  is  shown  by  a  garrulous  old  lady,  in  a  frosty 
red  face,  lighted  up  by  a  cold  blue  anxious  eye,  and  garnished 
with  artificial  locks  of  flaxen  hair,  curling  from  under  an 
exceedingly   dirty   cap.     She   was   peculiarly   assiduous   in 
exhibiting  the  relics  with  which  this,  like  all  other  celebrated 
shrines,  abounds.     There  was  the  shattered  stock  of  the  very 
matchlock  with  which    Shakspeare  shot   the  deer,  on   his 
poaching  exploits.     There,  too,  was  his  tobacco-box ;  which 
proves  that  he  was  a  rival  smoker  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  the 
sword  also  with  which  he  played  Hamlet ;  and  the  identical 
lantern  with  which  Friar  Laurence  discovered  Romeo  and 
Juliet  at  the  tomb !    There  was  an  ample  supply  also  of 
Shakspeare 's  mulberry-tree,  which  seems  to  have  as  extra 
ordinary  powers  of  self-multiplication  as  the  wood  of  the  true 
cross;  of  which  there  is  enough  extant  to  build  a  ship  of 
the  line. 


178  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

6.  The   most   favorite    object   of   curiosity,    however,    is 
Shakspeare's  chair.     It  stands  in  the  chimney  nook  of  a  small 
gloomy  chamber,  just  behind  what  was  his  father's  shop. 
Here  he  may  many  a  time  have  sat  when  a  boy,  watching  the 
slowly  revolving  spit  with  all    the  longing  of    an  urchin; 
or  of  an  evening,  listening  to  the  cronies  and  gossips  of  Strat 
ford,  dealing  forth  churchyard  tales  and  legendary  anecdotes 
of  the  troublesome  times  of  England.     In  this  chair  it  is 
the  custom  of  every  one  that  visits  the  house  to  sit :  whether 
this  be  done  with  the  hope  of  imbibing  any  of  the  inspiration 
of  the  bard  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say,  I  merely  mention  the  fact ; 
and  mine  hostess  privately  assured  me,  that,  though  built 
of  solid  oak,  such  was  the  fervent  zeal  of  devotees,  that  the 
chair  had  to  be  new  bottomed  at  least  once  in  three  years. 
It  is  worthy  of  notice  also,  in  the  history  of  this  extraordinary 
chair,  that  it  partakes  something  of  the  volatile  nature  of  the 
Santa  Casa  of  Loretto,  or  the  flying  chair  of  the  Arabian  en 
chanter  ;  for  though  sold  some  few  years  since  to  a  northern 
princesss,  yet,  strange  to  tell,  it  has  found  its  way  back  again 
to  the  old  chimney  corner. 

7.  I  am  always  of  easy  faith  in  such  matters,  and  am  ever 
willing  to  be  deceived,  where  the  deceit  is  pleasant  and  costs 
nothing.     I  am  therefore  a  ready  believer  in  relics,  legends, 
and  local  anecdotes  of  goblins  and  great  men;    and  would 
advise  all  travellers  who  travel  for  their  gratification  to  be  the 
same.     What  is  it  to  us,  whether  these  stories  be  true  or 
false,  so  long  as  we  can  persuade  ourselves  into  the  belief  of 
them,  and  enjoy  all  the  charm  of  the  reality?    There  is 
nothing  like  resolute  good-humored  credulity  in  these  matters ; 
and  on  this  occasion  I  went  even  so  far  as  willingly  to  believe 
the  claims  of  mine  hostess  to  a  lineal  descent  from  the  poet, 
when,  luckily  for  my  faith,  she  put  into  my  hands  a  play  of  her 
own  composition,  which  set  all  belief  in  her  consanguinity  at 
defiance. 

8.  From  the  birthplace  of  Shakspeare  a  few  paces  brought 
me  to  his  grave.     He  lies  buried  in  the  chancel  of  the  parish 
church,  a  large  and  venerable  pile,  mouldering  with  age,  but 
richly  ornamented.     It  stands  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  on  an 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON 


179 


embowered  point,  and  separated  by  adjoining  gardens  from 
the  suburbs  of  the  town.  Its  situation  is  quiet  and  retired ;  the 
river  runs  murmuring  at  the  foot  of  the  churchyard,  and 
the  elms  which  grow  upon  its  banks  droop  their  branches  into 
its  clear  bosom.  An  avenue  of  limes,  the  boughs  of  which  are 
curiously  interlaced,  so  as  to  form  in  summer  an  arched  way 
of  foliage,  leads  up  from  the  gate  of  the  yard  to  the  church 
porch.  The  graves  are  overgrown  with  grass;  the  gray 
tombstones,  some  of  them  nearly  sunk  into  the  earth,  are  half 
covered  with  moss,  which  has  likewise  tinted  the  reverend  old 
building.  Small  birds  have  built  their  nests  among  the  cor 
nices  and  fissures  of  the  walls,  and  keep  up  a  continual  flutter 


PARLOR  IN  THE  HOUSE  IN  WHICH  SHAKSPEARE  WAS  BORN 

and  chirping;    and  rooks  are  sailing  and  cawing  about  its 
lofty  gray  spire. 

9.  In  the  course  of  my  rambles  I  met  with  the  gray-headed 
sexton,  Edmonds,  and  accompanied  him  home  to  get  the  key 
of  the  church.  He  had  lived  in  Stratford,  man  and  boy, 
for  eighty  years,  and  seemed  still  to  consider  himself  a  vigor 
ous  man,  with  the  trivial  exception  that  he  had  nearly  lost 
the  use  of  his  legs  for  a  few  years  past.  His  dwelling  was  a 
cottage,  looking  out  upon  the  Avon  and  its  bordering  meadows ; 


180  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

and  was  a  picture  of  that  neatness,  order,  and  comfort, 
which  pervade  the  humblest  dwellings  in  this  country.  A 
low  white-washed  room,  with  a  stone  floor  carefully  scrubbed, 
served  for  parlor,  kitchen,  and  hall.  Rows  of  pewter  and 
earthen  dishes  glittered  along  the  dresser.  On  an  old  oaken 
table,  well  rubbed  and  polished,  lay  the  family  Bible  and 
prayer-book,  and  the  drawer  contained  the  family  library, 
composed  of  about  half  a  score  of  well-thummed  volumes. 
An  ancient  clock,  that  important  article  of  cottage  furniture, 
ticked  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room ;  with  a  bright  warm 
ing-pan  hanging  on  one  side  of  it,  and  the  old  man's  horn- 
handled  Sunday  cane  on  the  other.  The  fireplace,  as  usual, 
was  wide  and  deep  enough  to  admit  a  gossip  knot  within  its 
jambs.  In  one  corner  sat  the  old  man's  granddaughter 
sewing,  a  pretty  blue-eyed  girl,  —  and  in  the  opposite  corner 
was  a  superannuated  crony,  whom  he  addressed  by  the  name 
of  John  Ange,  and  who,  I  found,  had  been  his  companion 
from  childhood.  They  had  played  together  in  infancy ;  they 
had  worked  together  in  manhood;  they  were  now  tottering 
about  and  gossiping  away  the  evening  of  life ;  and  in  a  short 
time  they  will  probably  be  buried  together  in  the  neighboring 
churchyard.  It  is  not  often  that  we  see  two  streams  of 
existence  running  thus  evenly  and  tranquilly  side  by  side ;  it 
is  only  in  such  quiet  "bosom  scenes  "  of  life  that  they  are  to  be 
met  with. 

10.  I  had  hoped  to  gather  some  traditionary  anecdotes  of 
the  bard  from  these  ancient  chroniclers :  but  they  had  nothing 
new  to  impart.     The  long  interval  during  which  Shakspeare's 
writing  lay  in  comparative  neglect  has  spread  its  shadow  over 
his  history;   and  it  is  his  good    or   evil   lot   that    scarcely 
anything  remains  to  his  biographers  but  a  scanty  handful  of 
conjectures. 

11.  The  sexton  and  his  companion  had  been  employed 
as  carpenters  on  the  preparations  for  the  celebrated  Stratford 
jubilee,  and  they  remembered  Garrick,  the  prime  mover  of 
the  fete,   who   superintended  the  arrangements,   and  who, 
according  to  the  sexton,  was  "  a  short  punch  man,  very  lively 
and  bustling."    John  Ange  had  assisted  also  in  cutting  down 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  181 

Shakspeare 's  mulberry-tree,  of  which  he  had  a  morsel  in  his 
pocket  for  sale ;  no  doubt  a  sovereign  quickener  of  literary 
conception. 

12.  I  was  grieved  to  hear  these  two  worthy  wights  speak 
very  dubiously  of  the  eloquent  dame  who  shows  the  Shaks- 
peare  house.     John  Ange  shook  his  head  when  I  mentioned 
her  valuable  collection  of   relics,  particularly  her  remains  of 
the  mulberry-tree;    and   the  old  sexton  even  expressed  a 
doubt  as  to  Shakspeare  having  been  born  in  her  house.     I 
soon  discovered  that  he  looked  upon  her  mansion  with  an  evil 
eye,  as  a  rival  to  the  poet's  tomb:   the  latter  having  com 
paratively  but  few  visitors.     Thus  it  is  that  historians  differ 
at  the  very  outset,  and  mere  pebbles  make  the  stream  of  truth 
diverge  into  different  channels  even  at  the  fountain-head. 

13.  We   approached   the   church  through  the  avenue  of 
limes,  and  entered  by  a  Gothic  porch,  highly  ornamented, 
with  carved  doors  of  massive  oak.     The  interior  is  spacious, 
and  the  architecture  and  embellishments  superior  to  those 
of  most  country  churches.     There  are  several  ancient  monu 
ments  of  nobility   and  gentry,   over  some  of  which  hang 
funeral  escutcheons,   and  banners  dropping  piecemeal  from 
the  walls.     The  tomb  of  Shakspeare  is  in  the  chancel.     The 
place  is  solemn  and  sepulchral.     Tall  elms  wave  before  the 
pointed  windows,  and  the  Avon,  which  runs  at  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  walls,   keeps  up  a  low  perpetual  murmur. 
A  flat  stone  marks  the  spot  where  the  bard  is  buried.     There 
are  four  lines  inscribed  on  it,  said  to  have  been  written  by 
himself,  and  which  have  in  them  something  extremely  awful. 
If  they  are  indeed  his  own,  they  show  that  solicitude  about 
the  quiet  of  the  grave,   which   seems  natural   to   fine  sensi 
bilities  and  thoughtful  minds. 

Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbeare 
To  dig  the  dust  enclosed  here. 
Blessed  be  he  that  spares  these  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones. 

14.   Just  over  the  grave,  in  a  niche  of  the  wall,  is  a  bust 
of  Shakspeare,  put  up   shortly  after  his  death,   and    con- 


182  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

sidered  as  a  resemblance.  The  aspect  is  pleasant  and  serene, 
with  a  finely  arched  forehead,  and  I  thought  I  could  read  in 
it  clear  indications  of  that  cheerful,  social  disposition,  by 
which  he  was  as  much  characterized  among  his  contempo 
raries  as  by  the  vastness  of  his  genius.  The  inscription 
mentions  his  age  at  the  time  of  his  decease  —  fifty-three 
years ;  an  untimely  death  for  the  world :  for  what  fruit 
might  not  have  been  expected  from  the  golden  autumn  of 
such  a  mind,  sheltered  as  it  was  from  the  stormy  vicissitudes 
of  life,  and  flourishing  in  the  sunshine  of  popular  and  royal 
favor. 

15.  The  inscription  on  the  tombstone  has  not  been  without 
its  effect.     It  has  prevented  the  removal  of  his  remains  from 
the  bosom  of  his  native  place  to  Westminster  Abbey,  which 
was  at  one  time  contemplated.     A  few  years  since  also,  as 
some  laborers  were  digging  to  make  an  adjoining  vault,  the 
earth  caved  in,  so  as  to  leave  a  vacant  space  almost  like  an 
arch,  through  which  one  might  have  reached  into  his  grave. 
No  one,  however,  presumed  to  meddle  with  his  remains  so 
awfully  guarded  by  a  malediction ;   and  lest  any  of  the  idle 
or  the  curious,  or  any  collector  of  relics,  should  be  tempted 
to  commit  depredations,  the  old  sexton  kept  watch  over  the 
place  for  two  days,  until  the  vault  was  finished  and  the  aper 
ture  closed  again.     He  told  me  that  he  had  made  bold  to  look 
in  at  the  hole,  but  could  see  neither  coffin  nor  bones ;  nothing 
but  dust.     It  was  something,  I  thought,  to  have  seeri"the  dust 
of  Shakspeare. 

16.  Next  to  this  grave  are  those  of  his  wife,  his  favorite 
daughter,  Mrs.  Hall,  and  others  of  his  family.     On  a  tomb 
close  by,  also,  is  a  full-length  effigy  of  his  old  friend  John 
Combe  of  usurious  memory;    on  whom  he  is  said  to  have 
written  a  ludicrous  epitaph.     There  are  other  monuments 
around,  but  the  mind  refuses  to  dwell  on  anything  that  is  not 
connected  with  Shakspeare.     His  idea  pervades  the  place; 
the  whole  pile  seems  but  as  his  mausoleum.     The  feelings,  no 
longer  checked  and  thwarted  by  doubt,  here  indulge  in  perfect 
confidence :  other  traces  of  him  may  be  false  or  dubious,  but 
here  is  palpable  evidence  and  absolute  certainty.    As  I  trod 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON 


183 


the  sounding  pavement,  there  was  something  intense  and 
thrilling  in  the  idea,  that,  in  very  truth,  the  remains  of  Shaks' 
peare  were  mouldering  beneath  my  feet.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  I  could  prevail  upon  myself  to  leave  the  place ;  and  as 
I  passed  through  the  churchyard,  I  plucked  a  branch  from  one 
of  the  yew-trees,  the  only  relic  that  I  have  brought  from 
Stratford. 

17.   I  had  now  visited  the  usual  objects  of  a  pilgrim's 
devotion,  but  I  had  a  desire  to  see  the  old  family  seat  of  the 


SHAKSPEARE'S  TOMB 

Lucys,  at  Charlecot,  and  to  ramble  through  the  park  where 
Shakspeare,  in  company  with  some  of  the  roysters  of  Strat 
ford,  committed  his  youthful  offence  of  deer-stealing.  In 
this  hare-brained  exploit  we  are  told  that  he  was  taken  pris 
oner,  and  carried  to  the  keeper's  lodge,  where  he  remained 
all  night  in  doleful  captivity.  When  brought  into  the  pres 
ence  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  his  treatment  must  have  been 
galling  and  humiliating;  for  it  so  wrought  upon  his  spirit 


184  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

as  to  produce  a  rough  pasquinade,  which  was  affixed  to  the 
park  gate  at  Charlecot.1 

18.  This  flagitious  attack  upon  the  dignity  of  the  knight 
so  incensed  him,  that  he  applied  to  a  lawyer  at  Warwick  to 
put  the  severity  of  the  laws  in  force  against  the  rhyming  deer 
stalker.     Shakspeare  did  not  wait  to  brave  the  united  puis 
sance  of  a  knight  of  the  shire  and  a  country  attorney.     He 
forthwith  abandoned  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Avon  and  his 
paternal    trade;     wandered    away   to    London;    became    a 
hanger-on  to  the  theatres ;  then  an  actor ;  and,  finally,  wrote 
for  the  stage;    and  thus,  through    the    persecution  of    Sir 
Thomas   Lucy,    Stratford   lost   an   indifferent   wool-comber, 
and  the  world  gained  an  immortal  poet.     He  retained,  how 
ever,  for  a  long  time,  a  sense  of  the  harsh  treatment  of  the 
Lord  of  Charlecot,  and  revenged  himself  in  his  writings ;  but 
in  the  sportive  way  of  a  good-natured  mind.     Sir  Thomas 
is  said  to  be  the  original  Justice  Shallow,  and  the  satire  is 
slyly  fixed   upon   him   by   the   justice's   armorial   bearings, 
which,  like  those  of  the  knight,  had  white  luces  2  in  the  quar- 
terings. 

19.  Various  attempts  have  been  made  by  his  biographers 
to  soften  and  explain  away  this  early  transgression  of  the 
poet ;  but  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  those  thoughtless  exploits 
natural   to   his   situation    and   turn   of  mind.     Shakspeare, 
when  young,  had  doubtless  all  the  wildness  and  irregularity 
of  an   ardent,    undisciplined,    and   undirected   genius.     The 
poetic  temperament   has   naturally  something  in  it  of  the 
vagabond.     When  left  to  itself  it  runs  loosely  and  wildly,  and 

1  The  following  is  the  only  stanza  extant  of  this  lampoon :  — 

A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scarecrow,  at  London  an  asse, 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie,  whatever  befall  it. 

He  thinks  himself  great  ; 

Yet  an  asse  in  his  state, 

"We  allow  by  his  ears  but  with  asses  to  mate, 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  sing  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

2  The  luce  is  a  pike  or  jack,  and  abounds  in  the  Avon  about  Charle 
cot. 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  185 

delights  in  everything  eccentric  and  licentious.  It  is  often 
a  turn-up  of  a  die,  in  the  gambling  freaks  of  fate,  whether  a 
natural  genius  shall  turn  out  a  great  rogue  or  a  great  poet; 
and  had  not  Shakspeare's  mind  fortunately  taken  a  literary 
bias,  he  might  have  as  daringly  transcended  all  civil,  as  he  has 
all  dramatic  laws. 

20.  I  have  little  doubt  that,  in  early  life,  when  running,  like 
an  unbroken  colt,  about  the  neighborhood  of  Stratford,  he 
was  to  be  found  in  the  company  of  all  kinds  of  odd  anomalous 
characters,  that  he  associated  with  all  the  madcaps  of  the 
place,  and  was  one  of  those  unlucky  urchins,  at  mention  of 
whom  old  men  shake  their  heads,  and  predict  that  they  will 
one  day  come  to  the  gallows.  To  him  the  poaching  in  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's  park  was  doubtless  like  a  foray  to  a  Scottish 
knight,  and  struck  his  eager,  and,  as  yet  untamed,  imagina 
tion,  as  something  delightfully  adventurous.1 

1  A  proof  of  Shakspeare's  random  habits  and  associates  in  his 
youthful  days  may  be  found  in  a  traditionary  anecdote,  picked  up  at 
Stratford  by  the  elder  Ireland,  and  mentioned  in  his  "Picturesque 
Views  on  the  Avon." 

About  seven  miles  from  Stratford  lies  the  thirsty  little  market- 
town  of  Bedford,  famous  for  its  ale.  Two  societies  of  the  village 
yeomanry  used  to  meet,  under  the  appellation  of  the  Bedford  topers, 
and  to  challenge  the  lovers  of  good  ale  of  the  neighboring  villages  to 
a  contest  of  drinking.  Among  others,  the  people  of  Stratford  were 
called  out  to  prove  the  strength  of  their  heads ;  and  in  the  number  of 
the  champions  was  Shakspeare,  who,  in  spite  of  the  proverb  that 
"they  who  drink  beer  will  think  beer,"  was  as  true  to  his  ale  as  Fal- 
Btaff  to  his  sack.  The  chivalry  of  Stratford  was  staggered  at  the 
first  onset,  and  sounded  a  retreat  while  they  had  yet  legs  to^carry 
them  off  the  field.  They  had  scarcely  marched  a  mile  when,  their 
legs  failing  them,  they  were  forced  to  lie  down  under  a  crab-tree, 
where  they  passed  the  night.  It  is  still  standing,  and  goes  by  the 
name  of  Shakspeare's  tree. 

In  the  morning  his  companions  awaked  the  bard,  and  proposed 
returning  to  Bedford,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  had  had  enough, 
having  drank  with 

Piping  Pebworth,  Dancing  Marston, 
Haunted  Hilbro',  Hungry  Graf  ton, 
Dudging  Exhall,  Papist  Wicksford, 
Beggarly  Broom,  and  Drunken  Bedford. 

"The  villages  here  alluded  to,"  says  Ireland,  "still  bear  the  epithets 
thus  given  them :  the  people  of  Pebworth  are  still  famed  for  their 
skill  on  the  pipe  and  tabor;  Hilborough  is  now  called  Haunted  Hil- 
borough;  and  Graf  ton  is  famous  for  the  poverty  of  its  soil." 


186  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

21.  The  old  mansion  of  Charlecot  and  its  surrounding  park 
still  remain  in  the  possession  of  the  Lucy  family,  and  are 
peculiarly  interesting,  from  being  connected  with  this  whim 
sical  but  eventful  circumstance  in  the  scanty  history  of  the 
bard.     As  the  house  stood  but  little  more  than  three  miles 
distance  from  Stratford,  I  resolved  to  pay  it  a  pedestrian 
visit,  that  I  might  stroll  leisurely  through  some  of  those  scenes 
from  which  Shakspeare  must  have  derived  his  earliest  ideas 
of  rural  imagery. 

22.  The  country  was  yet  naked  and  leafless ;  but  English 
scenery  is  always  verdant,  and  the  sudden  change  in  the  tem 
perature  of  the  weather  was  surprising  in  its  quickening  effects 
upon  the  landscape.     It  was  inspiring  and  animating  to  wit 
ness  this  first  awakening  of  spring;   to  feel  its  warm  breath 
stealing  over  the  senses ;  to  see  the  moist  mellow  earth  begin 
ning  to  put  forth  the  green  sprout  and  the  tender  blade ;  and 
the  trees  and  shrubs,  in  their  reviving  tints  and  bursting  buds, 
giving  the  promise  of  returning  foliage  and  flower.     The  cold 
snowdrop,  that  little  borderer  on  the  skirts  of  winter,  was  to 
be  seen  with  its  chaste  white  blossoms  in  the  small  gardens 
before  the  cottages.     The  bleating   of   the  new-dropt  lambs 
was  faintly  heard  from  the  fields.     The  sparrow  twittered 
about  the  thatched  eaves  and  budding  hedges;    the  robin 
threw  a  livelier  note  into  his  late  querulous  wintry  strain ; 
and  the  lark,  springing  up  from  the  reeking  bosom  of  the 
meadow,  towered  away  into  the  bright  fleecy  cloud,  pouring 
forth  torrents  of  melody.     As  I  watched  the  little  songster, 
mounting  up  higher  and  higher,  until  his  body  was  a  mere 
speck  on  the  white  bosom  of  the  cloud,  while  the  ear  was 
still   filled  with  his    music,  it  called  to  mind  Shakspeare  'a 
exquisite  little  song  in  Cymbeline :  — 

Hark  !   hark  !   the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs, 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies. 

And  winking  mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  everything  that  pretty  bin, 

My  lady  sweet  arise  1 


STRATFOKD-ON-AVON  187 

23.  Indeed  the  whole  country  about  here  is  poetic  ground : 
everything  is  associated  with  the  idea  of  Shakspeare.     Every 
old  cottage  that  I  saw,  I  fancied  into  some  resort  of  his  boy 
hood,  where  he  had  acquired  his  intimate  knowledge  of  rustic 
life  and  manners,  and  heard  those  legendary  tales  and  wild 
superstitions  which  he  has  woven  like  witchcraft  into  his 
dramas.     For  in  his  time  we  are  told,  it  was  popular  amuse 
ment  in  winter  evenings  "to  sit  round  the  fire,  and  tell  merry 
tales  of  errant  knights,  queens,  lovers,  lords,  ladies,  giants, 
dwarfs,  thieves,  cheaters,  witches,  fairies,  goblins,  and  friars."1 

24.  My  route  for  a  part  of  the  way  lay  in  sight  of  the  Avon, 
which  made  a  variety  of  the  most  fancy  doublings  and  wind 
ings  through  a  wide  and  fertile  valley;   sometimes  glittering 
from  among  willows  which  fringed  its  borders;    sometimes 
disappearing  among  groves,  or  beneath  green  banks;    and 
sometimes  rambling  out  into  full  view,  and  making  an  azure 
sweep  round  a  slope  of  meadow  land.     This  beautiful  bosom 
of  country  is  called  the  Vale  of  the  Red  Horse.     A  distant 
line  of  undulating  blue  hills  seems  to  be  its  boundary,  whilst 
all  the  soft  intervening  landscape  lies  in  a  manner  enchained 
in  the  silver  links  of  the  Avon. 

25.  After  pursuing  the  road  for  about  three  miles  I  turned 
off  into  a  footpath,  which  led  along  the  borders  of  fields,  and 
under  hedgerows  to  a  private  gate  of  the  park;  there  was  a 
stile,  however,  for  the  benefit  of  the  pedestrian ;  there  being  a 
public  right  of  way  through  the  grounds.     I  delight  in  these 
hospitable  estates,  in  which  every  one  has  a  kind  of  property 
—  at  least  as  far  as  the  footpath  is  concerned.     It  in  some 
measure  reconciles  a  poor  man  to  his  lot,  and,  what  is  more, 
to  the  better  lot  of  his  neighbor,  thus  to  have  parks  and  pleas 
ure-grounds  thrown  open  for  his  recreation.     He  breathes 

1  Scot,  in  his  "Discoverie  of  Witchcraft,"  enumerates  a  host  of 
these  fireside  fancies.  "And  they  have  so  fraid  us  with  bull-beggars, 
spirits,  witches,  urchins,  elves,  hags,  fairies,  satyrs,  pans,  faunes, 
syrens,  kit  with  the  can  sticke,  tritons,  centaurs,  dwarfes,  giantes, 
imps,  calcars,  conjurors,  nymphes,  changelings,  incubus,  Robin-good- 
fellow,  the  spoorne,  the  mare,  the  man  in  the  oke,  the  hell-waine, 
the  fier  drake,  the  puckle,  Tom  Thombe,  hobgoblins,  Tom  Tumbler, 
boneless,  and  such  other  bugs,  that  we  were  afraid  of  our  own 
shadows." 


188 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


the  pure  air  as  freely,  and  lolls  as  luxuriously  under  the  shade, 
as  the  lord  of  the  soil ;  and  if  he  has  not  the  privilege  of  calling 
all  that  he  sees  his  own,  he  has  not,  at  the  same  time,  the 
trouble  of  paying  for  it,  and  keeping  it  in  order. 

26.  I  now  found  myself  among  noble  avenues  of  oaks  and 
elms,  whose  vast  size  bespoke  the  growth  of  centuries.  The 
wind  sounded  solemnly  among  their  branches,  and  the  rooks 
cawed  from  their  hereditary  nests  in  the  .tree-tops.  The 
eye  ranged  through  a  long  lessening  vista,  with  nothing  to 
interrupt  the  view  but  a  distant  statue ;  and  a  vagrant  deer 
stalking  like  a  shadow  across  the  opening. 


CHABLECOT  HALL 


27.  There  is  something  about   these  stately  old  avenues 
that  has  the  effect  of  Gothic  architecture,  not  merely  from 
the  pretended  similiarity  of  form,  but  from  their  bearing  the 
evidence  of  long  duration,  and  of  having  had  their  origin  in 
a  period  of  time  with  which  we  associate  ideas  of  romantic 
grandeur.     They  betoken  also  the  long-settled  dignity,  and 
proudly  concentrated    independence   of   an  ancient   family; 
and  I  have  heard  a  worthy  but  aristocratic  old  friend  observe, 
when  speaking  of  the  sumptuous  palaces  of  modern  gentry, 
that  "money  could    do  much  with  stone  and  mortar,  but, 
thank  Heaven,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  suddenly  building 
up  an  avenue  of  oaks. 

28.  It  was  from  wandering  in  early  life  among  this  rich 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  189 

scenery,  and  about  the  romantic  solitudes  of  the  adjoining 
park  of  Fullbroke,  which  then  formed  a  part  of  the  Lucy 
estate,  that  some  of  Shakspeare's  commentators  have  sup 
posed  he  derived  his  noble  forest  meditations  of  Jaques,  and 
the  enchanting  woodland  pictures  in  "As  You  Like  It." 
It  is  in  lonely  wanderings  through  such  scenes,  that  the  mind 
drinks  deep  but  quiet  draughts  of  inspiration,  and  becomes 
intensely  sensible  of  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  nature.  The 
imagination  kindles  into  revery  and  rapture;  vague  but 
exquisite  images  and  ideas  keep  breaking  upon  it;  and  we 
revel  in  a  mute  and  almost  incommunicable  luxury  of  thought. 
It  was  in  some  such  mood,  and  perhaps  under  one  of  those 
very  trees  before  me,  which  threw  their  broad  shades  over 
the  grassy  banks  and  quivering  waters  of  the  Avon,  that  the 
poet's  fancy  may  have  sallied  forth  into  that  little  song  which 
breathes  the  very  soul  of  a  rural  voluptuary. 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

29.  I  had  now  come  in  sight  of  the  house.  It  is  a  large 
building  of  brick,  with  stone  quoins,  and  is  in  the  Gothic  style 
of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day,  having  been  built  in  the  first  year 
of  her  reign.  The  exterior  remains  very  nearly  in  its  original 
state,  and  may  be  considered  a  fair  specimen  of  the  residence 
of  a  wealthy  country  gentleman  of  those  days.  A  great  gate 
way  opens  from  the  park  into  a  kind  of  courtyard  in  front 
of  the  house,  ornamented  with  a  grass-plot,  shrubs,  and 
flower-beds.  The  gateway  is  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  bar- 
bacan;  being  a  kind  of  outpost,  and  flanked  by  towers; 
though  evidently  for  mere  ornament,  instead  of  defence. 
The  front  of  the  house  is  completely  in  the  old  style;  with 
stone-shafted  casements,  a  great  bow-window  of  heavy  stone 
work,  and  a  portal  with  armorial  bearings  over  it,  carved  in 


190  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

stone.     At  each  corner  of  the  building  is  an  octagon  tower, 
surmounted  by  a  gilt  ball  and  weathercock. 

30.  The  Avon,  which  winds  through  the  park,  makes  a  bend 
just  at  the  foot  of  a  gently  sloping  bank,  which  sweeps  down 
from  the  rear  of  the  house.     Large  herds  of  deer  were  feeding 
or  reposing  upon  its  borders;    and  swans  were  sailing  ma 
jestically  upon  its  bosom.     As  I  contemplated  the  venerable 
old  mansion,  I  called  to  mind  FalstafFs  encomium  on  Justice 
Shallow's  abode,  and  the  affected  indifference  and  real  vanity 
of  the  latter. 

"  Falstaff.     You  have  a  goodly  dwelling  and  a  rich. 
"  Shallow.     Barren,  barren,  barren ;  beggars   all,  beggars   all,  Sir 
John  :  —  marry,  good  air. " 

31.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  joviality  of  the  old  man 
sion  in  the  days  of  Shakspeare,  it  had  now  an  air  of  stillness 
and  solitude.     The  great  iron  gateway  that  opened  into  the 
courtyard  was  locked ;  there  was  no  show  of  servants  bustling 
about  the  place;   the  deer  gazed  quietly  at  me  as  I  passed, 
being  no  longer  harried  by  the  moss-troopers  of   Stratford. 
The  only  sign  of  domestic  life  that  I  met  with  was  a  white  cat, 
stealing  with  wary  look  and  stealthy  pace  towards  the  stables, 
as  if  on  some  nefarious  expedition.     I  must  not  omit  to 
mention  the  carcass  of  a  scoundrel  crow  which  I  saw  suspended 
against  the  barn  wall,  as  it  shows  that  the  Lucys  still  inherit 
that  lordly  abhorrence  of  poachers,  and  maintain  that  rigorous 
exercise  of  territorial  power  which  was  so  strenuously  mani 
fested  in  the  case  of  the  bard. 

32.  After  prowling  about  for  some  time,  I  at  length  found 
my  way  to  a  lateral  portal,  which  was  the  every-day  entrance 
to  the  mansion.     I  was  courteously  received  by  a  worthy 
old  house-keeper,  who,  with  the  civility  and  communicative 
ness  of  her  order,  showed  me  the  interior  of  the  house.     The 
greater  part  has  undergone  alterations,  and  been  adapted 
to  modern  tastes  and  modes  of  living :  there  is  a  fine  old  oaken 
staircase ;  and  the  great  hall,  that  noble  feature  in  an  ancient 
manor-house,  still  retains  much  of  the  appearance  it  must 
have  had  in  the  days  of  Shakspeare.     The  ceiling  is  arched 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  191 

and  lofty;  and  at  one  end  is  a  gallery  in  which  stands  an 
organ.  The  weapons  and  trophies  of  the  chase,  which  for 
merly  adorned  the  hall  of  a  country  gentleman,  have  made 
way  for  family  portraits.  There  is  a  wide  hospitable  fire 
place,  calculated  for  an  ample  old-fashioned  wood  fire, 
formerly  the  rallying-place  of  winter  festivity.  On  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  hall  is  the  huge  Gothic  bow-window,  with  stone 
shafts,  which  looks  out  upon  the  courtyard.  Here  are  em 
blazoned  in  stained  glass  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  Lucy 
family  for  many  generations,  some  being  dated  in  1558.  I  was 
delighted  to  observe  in  the  quarterings  the  three  white  luces, 
by  which  the  character  of  Sir  Thomas  was  first  identified 
with  that  of  Justice  Shallow.  They  are  mentioned  in  the 
first  scene  of  the  "  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  where  the 
Justice  is  in  a  rage  with  Falstaff  for  having  "beaten  his  men, 
killed  his  deer,  and  broken  into  his  lodge."  The  poet  had 
no  doubt  the  offences  of  himself  and  his  comrades  in  mind  at 
the  time,  and  we  may  suppose  the  family  pride  and  vindictive 
threats  of  the  puissant  Shallow  to  be  a  caricature  of  the  pom 
pous  indignation  of  Sir  Thomas. 

"Shallow.  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not;  I  will  make  a  Star- 
Chamber  matter  of  it ;  if  he  were  twenty  John  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not 
abuse  Sir  Robert  Shallow,  Esq. 

"  Slender.     In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace,  and  coram. 

"Shallow.     Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  custalorum. 

"  Slender.  Ay,  and  ratolorum  too,  and  a  gentleman  born,  master 
parson ;  who  writes  himself  Armigero  in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance, 
or  obligation,  Armigero. 

"  Shallow.  Ay,  that  I  do  ;  and  have  done  any  time  these  three  hun 
dred  years. 

"Slender.  All  his  successors  gone  before  him  have  done  %and  all  his 
ancestors  that  come  after  him  may ;  they  may  give  the  dozen  white 
luces  in  their  coat.  .  .  . 

"Shallow.     The  council  shall  hear  it;   it  is  a  riot. 

"  Evans.  It  is  not  meet  the  council  hear  of  a  riot ;  there  is  no  fear 
of  Got  in  a  riot :  the  council,  hear  you,  shall  desire  to  hear  the  fear  of 
Got,  and  not  to  hear  a  riot ;  take  your  vizaments  in  that. 

"Shallow.  Ha!  o' my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the  sword  should 
end  it !  " 

33.  Near  the  window  thus  emblazoned  hung  a  portrait  by 
Sir  Peter  Lely,  of  one  of  the  Lucy  family,  a  great  beauty  of  the 
time  of  Charles  the  Second:  the  old  housekeeper  shook  her 


192 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


head  as  she  pointed  to  the  picture,  and  informed  me  that 
this  lady  had  been  sadly  addicted  to  cards,  and  had  gambled 
away  a  great  portion  of  the  family  estate,  among  which  was 
that  part  of  the  park  where  Shakspeare  and  his  comrades  had 
killed  the  deer.  The  lands  thus  lost  had  not  been  entirely 
regained  by  the  family  even  at  the  present  day.  It  is  but 
justice  to  this  recreant  dame  to  confess  that  she  had  a  sur 
passingly  fine  hand  and  arm. 


THE  GREAT  HALL  AT  CHARLECOT 

34.  The  picture  which  most  attracted  my  attention  was  a 
great  painting  over  the  fireplace,  containing  likenesses  of 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  family,  who  inhabited  the  hall  in 
the  latter  part  of  Shakspeare's  lifetime.  I  at  first  thought 
that  it  was  the  vindictive  knight  himself,  but  the  house 
keeper  assured  me  that  it  was  his  son;  the  only  likeness 
extant  of  the  former  being  an  effigy  upon  his  tomb  in  the 
church  of  the  neighboring  hamlet  of  Charlecot.  The  picture1 

1  This  effigy  is  in  white  marble,  and  represents  the  Knight  in  com 
plete  armor.  Near  him  lies  the  effigy  of  his  wife,  and  on  her  tomb 
is  the  following  inscription ;  which,  if  really  composed  by  her  hus- 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON  193 

gives  a  lively  idea  of  the  costume  and  manners  of  the  time. 
Sir  Thomas  is  dressed  in  ruff  and  doublet;  white  shoes 
with  roses  in  them ;  and  has  a  beaked  yellow,  or,  as  Master 
Slender  would  say,  "a  cane-colored  beard."  His  lady  is 
seated  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  picture,  in  wide  ruff  and 
long  stomacher,  and  the  children  have  a  most  venerable 
stiffness  and  formality  of  dress.  Hounds  and  spaniels  are 
mingled  in  the  family  group;  a  hawk  is  seated  on  his 
perch  in  the  foreground,  and  one  of  the  children  holds  a 
bow ;  —  all  intimating  the  knight's  skill  in  hunting,  hawking, 
and  archery  —  so  indispensable  to  an  accomplished  gentle 
man  in  those  days.2 

35.  I  regretted  to  find  that  the  ancient  furniture  of  the  hall 
had  disappeared;  for  I  had  hoped  to  meet  with  the  stately 
elbow-chair  of  carved  oak,  in  which  the  country  squire  of 

band,  places  him  quite  above  the  intellectual  level  of  Master 
Shallow. 

Here  lyeth  the  Lady  Joyce  Lucy  wife  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  of 
Charlecot  in  ye  county  of  Warwick,  Knight,  Daughter  and  heir  of 
Thomas  Acton  of  Sutton  in  ye  county  of  Worcester  Esquire  who  de 
parted  out  of  this  wretched  world  to  her  heavenly  kingdom  ye  10  day 
of  February  in  ye  yeare  of  our  Lord  God  1595  and  of  her  age  60  and 
three.  All  the  time  of  her  lyfe  a  true  and  faythful  servant  of  her  good 
God,  never  detected  of  any  cryme  or  vice.  In  religion  most  sounde, 
in  love  to  her  husband  most  faythful  and  true.  In  friendship  most 
constant ;  to  what  in  trust  was  committed  unto  her  most  secret.  In 
wisdom  excelling.  In  governing  of  her  house,  bringing  up  of  youth 
in  ye  fear  of  God  that  did  converse  with  her  moste  rare  and  singular. 
A  great  maintayner  of  hospitality.  Greatly  esteemed  of  her  betters  ; 
misliked  of  none  unless  of  the  envyous.  When  all  is  spoken  that  can 
be  saide  a  woman  so  garnished  with  virtue  as  not  to  be  bettered 
and  hardly  to  be  equalled  by  any.  As  shee  lived  most  virtuously  so 
shee  died  most  Godly.  Set  downe  by  him  yt  best  did  knowe  what 
hath  byn  written  to  be  true.  Thomas  Lucye. 

2  Bishop  Earle,  speaking  of  the  country  gentleman  of  his  time, 
observes,  "his  housekeeping  is  seen  much  in  the  different  families  of 
dogs,  and  serving-men  attendant  on  their  kennels ;  and  the  deepness 
of  their  throats  is  the  depth  of  his  discourse.  A  hawk  he  esteems  the 
true  burden  of  nobility,  and  is  exceedingly  ambitious  to  seem  de 
lighted  with  the  sport,  and  have  his  fist  gloved  with  his  jesses." 
And  Gilpin,  in  his  description  of  a  Mr.  Hastings,  remarks,  "he  kept  all 
sorts  of  hounds  that  run,  buck,  fox,  hare,  otter,  and  badger,  and  had 
hawks  of  all  kinds  both  long  and  short  winged.  His  great  hall  was 
commonly  strewed  with  marrow-bones,  and  full  of  hawk,  perches' 
hounds,  spaniels,  and  terriers.  On  a  broad  hearth,  paved  with  brick* 
lay  some  of  the  choicest  terriers,  hounds,  and  spaniels." 


194  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

former  days  was  wont  to  sway  the  sceptre  of  empire  over  his 
rural  domains;  and  in  which  it  might  be  presumed  the  re 
doubted  Sir  Thomas  sat  enthroned  in  awful  state  when  the 
recreant  Shakspeare  was  brought  before  him.  As  I  like  to 
deck  out  pictures  for  my  own  entertainment,  I  pleased  my 
self  with  the  idea  that  this  very  hall  had  been  the  scene  of  the 
unlucky  bard's  examination  on  the  morning  after  his  cap 
tivity  in  the  lodge.  I  fancied  to  myself  the  rural  potentate, 
surrounded  by  his  body-guard  of  butler,  pages,  and  blue- 
coated  serving-men,  with  their  badges;  while  the  luckless 
culprit  was  brought  in,  forlorn  and  chopfallen,  in  the  custody 
of  gamekeepers,  huntsmen,  and  whippers-in,  and  followed  by 
a  rabble  rout  of  country  clowns.  I  fancied  bright  faces  of 
curious  housemaids  peeping  from  the  half-opened  doors; 
while  from  the  gallery  the  fair  daughters  of  the  knight  leaned 
gracefully  forward,  eying  the  youthful  prisoner  with  that 
pity  "that  dwells  in  womanhood."-  — Who  would  have 
thought  that  this  poor  varlet,  thus  trembling  before  the  brief 
authority  of  a  country  squire,  and  the  sport  of  rustic  boors, 
was  soon  to  become  the  delight  of  princes,  the  theme  of  all 
tongues  and  ages,  the  dictator  to  the  human  mind,  and  was 
to  confer  immortality  on  his  oppressor  by  a  caricature  and 
a  lampoon ! 

36.  I  was  now  invited  by  the  butler  to  walk  into  the  garden, 
and  I  felt  inclined  to  visit  the  orchard  and  arbor  where  the 
justice  treated  Sir  John  FalstafT  and  Cousin  Silence  "to  a  last 
year's  pippin  of  his  own  grafting,  with  a  dish  of  caraways ; " 
but  I  had  already  spent  so  much  of  the  day  in  my  ramblings 
that  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  any  further  investigations. 
When  about  to  take  my  leave,  I  was  gratified  by  the  civil 
entreaties  of  the  housekeeper  and  butler,  that  I  would  take 
some  refreshment:  an  instance  of  good  old  hospitality, 
which,  I  grieve  to  say,  we  castle-hunters  seldom  meet  with 
in  modern  days.  I  make  no  doubt  it  is  a  virtue  which  the 
present  representative  of  the  Lucys  inherits  from  his  ancestors ; 
for  Shakspeare,  even  in  his  caricature,  makes  Justice  Shallow 
importunate  in  this  respect,  as  witness  his  pressing  instances 
to  Falstaff. 


STRATFOKD-ON-AVON  195 

"By  cock  and  pye,  sir,  you  shall  not  away  to-night  ...  I  will 
not  excuse  you ;  you  shall  not  be  excused ;  excuses  shall  not  be  ad 
mitted  ;  there  is  no  excuse  shall  serve  ;  you  shall  not  be  excused  .  .  . 
Some  pigeons,  Davy ;  a  couple  of  short-legged  hens ;  a  joint  of 
mutton;  and  any  pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  tell  William  Cook." 

37.  I  now  bade  a  reluctant  farewell  to  the  old  hall.     My 
mind  had  become  so  completely  possessed  by  the  imaginary 
scenes  and  characters  connected  with  it,  that  I  seemed  to  be 
actually  living  among  them.     Everything  brought  them  as 
it  were  before  my  eyes ;   and  as  the  door  of  the  dining-room 
opened,  I  almost  expected  to  hear  the  feeble  voice  of  Master 
Silence  quavering  forth  his  favorite  ditty :  — 

"  'Tis  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all, 
And  welcome  merry  shrove-tide  I" 

38.  On  returning  to  my  inn,  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  the 
singular  gift  of  the  poet ;  to  be  able  thus  to  spread  the  magic 
of  his  mind  over  the  very  face  of  nature;   to  give  to  things 
and  places  a  charm  and  character  not  their  own,  and  to  turn 
this  "working-day  world"  into  a  perfect  fairy  land.     He 
is  indeed  the  true  enchanter,  whose  spell  operates,  not  upon  the 
senses,  but  upon  the  imagination  and  the  heart.     Under  the 
wizard  influence  of  Shakspeare  I  had  been  walking  all  day  in 
a  complete  delusion.      I  had  surveyed  the  landscape  through 
the  prism  of  poetry,  which  tinged  every  object  with  the  hues 
of  the  rainbow.     I  had  been  surrounded  with  fancied  beings ; 
with  mere  airy  nothings,  conjured  up  by  poetic  power;   yet 
which,  to  me,  had  all  the  charm  of  reality.     I  had  heard 
Jaques  soliloquize  beneath  his  oak:    had  beheld  the   fair 
Rosalind  and  her  companion  adventuring  through  the  wood 
lands;   and,  above  all,  had  been  once  more  present  in  spirit 
with  fat  Jack  Falstaff  and  his  contemporaries,  from  the  august 
Justice  Shallow,  down  to  the  gentle  Master  Slender  and  the 
sweet  Anne  Page.     Ten  thousand  honors  and  blessings  on 
the  bard  who  has  thus  gilded  the  dull  realities  of  life  with 
innocent  illusions;   who  has  spread  exquisite  and  unbought 
pleasures  in  my  checkered  path ;  and  beguiled  my  spirit  in 
many  a  lonely  hour,  with  all  the  cordial  and  cheerful  sym 
pathies  of  social  life ! 


196  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

39.  As  I  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Avon  on  my  return,  I 
paused  to  contemplate  the  distant  church  in  which  the  poet 
lies  buried,  and  could  not  but  exult  in  the  malediction,  which 
has  kept  his  ashes  undisturbed  in  its  quiet  and  hallowed  vaults. 
What  honor  could  his  name  have  derived  from  being  mingled 
in  dusty  companionship  with  the  epitaphs  and  escutcheons 
and  venal  eulogiums  of  a  titled  multitude  ?     What  would  a 
crowded  corner  in  Westminster  Abbey  have  been,  compared 
with  this  reverend  pile,  which  seems  to  stand  in  beautiful 
loneliness  as  his  sole  mausoleum !    The  solicitude  about  the 
grave  may  be  but  the  off-spring  of  an  over-wrought  sensibility ; 
but  human  nature  is  made  up  of  foibles  and  prejudices;  and 
its  best  and  tenderest  affections  are  mingled  with  these  facti 
tious  feelings.     He  who  has  sought  renown  about  the  world, 
and  has  reaped  a  full  harvest  of  worldly  favor,  will  find,  after 
all,  that  there  is  no  love,  no  admiration,  no  applause,  so  sweet 
to  the  soul  as  that  which  springs  up  in  his  native  place.     It  is 
there  that  he  seeks  to  be  gathered  in  peace  and  honor  among 
his  kindred  and  his  early  friends.     And  when  the  weary  heart 
and  failing  head  begin  to  warn  him  that  the  evening  of  life  is 
drawing  on,  he  turns  as  fondly  as  does  the  infant  to  the 
mother's  arms,  to  sink  to  sleep  in  the  bosom  of  the  scene  of 
his  childhood. 

40.  How  would  it  have  cheered  the  spirit  of  the  youthful 
bard  when,  wandering  forth  in  disgrace  upon  a  doubtful 
world,  he  cast  back  a  heavy  look  upon  his  paternal  home, 
could  he  have  foreseen  that,  before  many  years,  he  should 
return  to  it  covered  with  renown;  that  his  name  should  be 
come  the  boast  and  glory  of  his  native  place :  that  his  ashes 
should  be  religiously  guarded  as  its  most  precious  treasure ; 
and  that  its  lessening  spire,  on  which  his  eyes  were  fixed  in 
tearful  contemplation,  should  one  day  become  the  beacon, 
towering  amidst  the  gentle  landscape,  to  guide  the  literary 
pilgrim  of  every  nation  to  his  tomb ! 


ABBOTSFORD 

[COMMENT.  —  The  visit  which  furnished  the  material  for  this 
essay  took  place  in  1817,  in  the  same  year  with  the  excursion 
into  Derbyshire  and  the  residence  in  Little  Britain.  It  appears, 
naturally,  therefore,  in  a  volume  of  essays  selected  from  "The 
Sketch-Book,"  although  it  was  written  and  published  many 
years  later  than  the  essays  of  that  volume.  Irving  speaks  of  his 
excursions  to  Eastcheap  and  to  Stratford  as  pilgrimages;  his 
journey  to  Abbotsford  arose  from  the  same  love  of  visiting, 
in  the  body,  the  places  long  ago  wandered  through  in  imagina 
tion,  but  it  was  much  more  than  a  pilgrimage.  He  hoped  here, 
also,  to  identify  places  long  familiar  in  story  and  to  see  with  his 
own  eyes  the  homes  and  haunts  of  a  great  poet,  but  more  than 
all,  his  thought  dwelt  upon  the  possibility  that  he  might  see 
the  features  and  hear  the  Scotch  accent  of  the  man  whom  he 
admired  as  the  foremost  author  of  his  time.  This  anticipation 
was  sufficient  to  set  beating  the  heart  of  a  modest  young  writer 
not  yet  secure  of  fame.  When  at  length  the  dream  became 
reality  and  he  found  himself  welcomed  as  table  companion 
and  comrade  of  Sir  Walter,  it  seemed,  in  the  words  of  children, 
too  good  to  be  true,  and  he  lay  awake  on  his  pillow  trying 
to  realize  his  fortune. 

In  letters  to  Irving's  brother  Peter  will  be  found  an  account 
of  this  visit  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence.  —  "  Life  and  Letters," 
Vol.  I,  pp.  281-288  (Chap.  xxi.). 

In  essays  such  as  "  Stratford-on-Avon,"  it  was  Irving's  purpose 
to  create  for  readers  a  lively  picture  in  which  scenes  and  persons 
known  through  books,  mingle  in  close  association  with  real 
places.  In  "Abbotsford,"  the  purpose  was  different.  Irving 
sought  to  share  an  experience  with  us  that  we,  too,  may  be 
acquainted  with  Scott  at  home,  in  the  midst  of  work  or  play, 
surrounded  by  his  family,  displaying  freely  his  humors  and 
characteristics.  In  the  study  of  the  following  essay  this  point 
of  view  must  be  borne  in  mind.  Whatever  the  visit  or  the 
ramble,  the  description  of  it  serves  for  the  illustration  of 
Scott's  life  or  character. 

In  "  Abbotsford"  readers  have  the  rare  opportunity  of  admis 
sion  as  eavesdroppers  while  two  men  of  letters  indulge  humors  and 
fancies  called  forth  by  sympathetic  intellectual  companionship. 
The  picture  of  Scott  at  home  with  favorite  hounds,  or  abroad 
on  his  estate,  among  dependants  who  worshipped  him,  lingers 

197 


198 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


in  the  memory  longer  than  any  of  his  own  making.  His 
pride  in  the  countryside,  or  his  interest  in  the  building  of 
Abbotsford,  or  in  the  education  of  his  son,  reveals  the  Scots 
man  more  truly  than  all  his  volumes. 

The  reminiscent  form  of  the  narrative,  which  is  frankly  per 
sonal  and  historical,  gives  an  orderly  arrangement  of  material 
in  the  essay,  and  the  author  infuses,  with  the  remembered  en 
thusiasm  of  youth,  the  deeper  and  more  appreciative  feeling 
of  mature  years,  in  which  he  himself  had  won  full  recognition 
and  fame.  D.] 


THE  GATE  AT  ABBOTSFORD 

1.  I  sit  down  to  perform  my  promise  of  giving  you  an 
account  of  a  visit  made  many  years  since  to  Abbotsford.     I 
hope,  however,  that  you  do  not  expect  much  from  me,  for 
the  travelling  notes  taken  at   the    time  are  so  scanty  and 
vague,  and  my  memory  so  extremely  fallacious,  that  I  fear 
I  shall  disappoint  you  with  the  meagreness  and  crudeness  of 
my  details. 

2.  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  29th  of  August,  1817,   I 
arrived  at  the  ancient  little  border-town  of  Selkirk,  where 
I  put  up  for  the  night.     I  had  come  down  from  Edinburgh, 
partly  to  visit  Melrose  Abbey  and  its  vicinity,  but  chiefly  to 
get  a  sight  of  the  "  mighty  minstrel  of  the  north."     I  had  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  him  from  Thomas    Campbell  the 
poet,  and  had  reason  to  think,    from  the  interest   he  had 
taken  in  some  of  my  earlier  scribblings,  that  a  visit  from  me 
would  not  be  deemed  an  intrusion. 

3.  On  the  following  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  I 


ABBOTSFOKD  199 

set  off  in  a  post-chaise  for  the  Abbey.  On  the  way  thither 
I  stopped  at  the  gate  of  Abbotsford,  and  sent  the  postilion 
to  the  house  with  the  letter  of  introduction  and  my  card,  on 
which  I  had  written  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  ruins  of 
Melrose  Abbey,  and  wished  to  know  whether  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  Mr.  Scott  (he  had  not  yet  been  made  a  Baronet) 
to  receive  a  visit  from  me  in  the  course  of  the  morning. 

4.  While  the  postilion  was  on  his  errand,  I  had  time  to 
survey  the  mansion.     It  stood  some  short  distance  below  the 
road,  on  the  side  of  a  hill  sweeping  down  to  the  Tweed ;  and 
was  as  yet  but  a  snug  gentleman's  cottage,  with  something 
rural  and  picturesque  in  its  appearance.     The  whole  front 
was  overrun  with  evergreens,  and  immediately  above  the 
portal  was  a  great  pair  of  elk-horns,  branching  out  from  be 
neath  the  foliage,  and  giving  the  cottage  the  look  of  a  hunt 
ing-lodge.     The  huge  baronial  pile,  to  which  this  modest 
mansion  in  a  manner  gave  birth,  was  just  emerging  into 
existence:    part   of  the   walls,   surrounded   by  scaffolding, 
already  had  risen  to  the  height  of  the  cottage,  arid  the  court 
yard  in  front  was  encumbered  by  masses  of  hewn  stone. 

5.  The  noise  of  the  chaise  had  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the 
establishment.     Out   sallied    the   warder   of    the   castle,   a 
black  greyhound,  and,  leaping  on  one  of  the  blocks  of  stone, 
began  a  furious  barking.     His  alarum  brought  out  the  whole 
garrison  of  dogs,  — 

"Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 
And  curs  of  low  degree ; " 

all  open-mouthed  and  vociferous. 1  should  correct  my 

quotation ;  —  not  a  cur  was  to  be  seen  on  the  premises : 
Scott  was  too  true  a  sportsman,  and  had  too  high  a  veneration 
for  pure  blood,  to  tolerate  a  mongrel. 

6.  In  a  little  while  the  "lord  of  the  castle"  himself  made 
his  appearance.     I  knew  him  at  once  by  the  descriptions  I 
had  read  and  heard,  and  the  likenesses  that  had  been  pub 
lished  of  him.     He  was  tall,  and  of   a  large  and  powerful 
frame.    His  dress  was  simple,  and  almost  rustic :  an  old  green 
shooting-coat,  with  a  dog-whistle  at  the  button-hole,  brown 


200  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

linen  pantaloons,  stout  shoes  that  tied  at  the  ankles,  and  a 
white  hat  that  had  evidently  seen  service.  He  came  limp 
ing  up  the  gravel-walk,  aiding  himself  by  a  stout  walk 
ing-staff,  but  moving  rapidly  and  with  vigor.  By  his  side 
jogged  along  a  large  iron-gray  stag-hound  of  most  grave 
demeanor,  who  took  no  part  in  the  clamor  of  the  canine 
rabble,  but  seemed  to  consider  himself  bound,  for  the  dignity 
of  the  house,  to  give  me  a  courteous  reception. 

7.  Before  Scott  had  reached  the  gate  he  called  out  in  a 
hearty  tone,  welcoming  me  to  Abbotsford,  and  asking  news 
of  Campbell.     Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  chaise,  he  grasped  me 
warmly  by  the  hand :  "Come,  drive  down,  drive  down  to  the 
house,"  said  he,  "ye 're  just  in  time  for  breakfast,  and  after 
wards  ye  shall  see  all  the  wonders  of  the  Abbey." 

8.  I  would  have  excused  myself,  on  the  plea  of  having 
already  made  my  breakfast.     "Hoot,  man,"  cried  he,   "a 
ride  in  the  morning  in  the  keen  air  of  the  Scotch  hills  is 
warrant  enough  for  a  second  breakfast." 

9.  I  was  accordingly  whirled  to  the  portal  of  the  cottage, 
and  in  a  few  moments  found  myself  seated  at  the  breakfast- 
table.     There  was  no  one  present  but  the  family :  which  con 
sisted  of  Mrs.  Scott;  her  eldest  daughter  Sophia,  then  a  fine 
girl  about  seventeen ;    Miss  Ann  Scott,  two  or  three  years 
younger;    Walter,   a  well-grown  stripling;    and  Charles,   a 
lively  boy,  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age.     I  soon  felt  myself 
quite  at  home,  and  my  heart  in  a  glow  with  the  cordial  wel 
come  I  experienced.    I  had  thought  to  make  a  mere  morning 
visit,  but  found  I  was  not  to  be  left  off  so  lightly.     "You 
must  not  think  our  neighborhood  is  to  be  read  in  a  morning, 
like  a  newspaper,"  said  Scott.    "  It  takes  several  days  of  study 
for  an  observant  traveller  that  has  a  relish  for  auld-world 
trumpery.     After  breakfast  you  shall  make  your  visit  to 
Melrose  Abbey;   I  shall  not  be  able  to  accompany  you,  as  I 
have  some  household  affairs  to  attend  to,  but  I  will  put  you 
in  charge  of  my  son  Charles,  who  is  very  learned  in  all  things 
touching  the  old  ruin  and  the  neighborhood  it  stands  in,  and 
he  and  my  friend  Johnny  Bower  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth 
about  it,  with  a  good  deal  more  that  you  are  not  called  upon 


ABBOTSFOED 


201 


to  believe  —  unless  you  be  a  true  and  nothing-doubting 
antiquary.  When  you  come  back,  I'll  take  you  out  on  a 
ramble  about  the  neighborhood.  To-morrow  we  will  take 
a  look  at  the  Yarrow,  and  the  next  day  we  will  drive  over 
to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which  is  a  fine  old  ruin  well  worth  your 
seeing;"  —  in  a  word,  before  Scott  had  got  through  with  his 
plan,  I  found  myself  committed  for  a  visit  of  several  days, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  a  little  realm  of  romance  was  suddenly 
opened  before  me. 


ABBOTSFORD  iir  1812 
After  an  engraving  by  W.  Richardson 

10.  After  breakfast  I  accordingly  set  off  for  the  Abbey  with 
my  little  friend  Charles,  whom  I  found  a  most  sprightly  and  en 
tertaining  companion.     He  had  an  ample  stock  of  anecdote 
about  the  neighborhood,   which  he  had  learned  from  his 
father,  and  many  quaint  remarks  and  sly  jokes,  evidently 
derived  from  the  same  source,  all  which  were  uttered  with  a 
Scottish  accent  and  a  mixture  of  Scottish  phraseology,  that 
gave  them  additional  flavor. 

11.  On  our  way  to  the  Abbey  he  gave  me  some  anecdotes 
of  Johnny  Bower,  to  whom  his  father  had  alluded;   he  was 
sexton  of  the  parish  and  custodian  of  the  ruin,  employed  to 
keep  it  in  order  and  show  it  to  strangers ;  —  a  worthy  little 


202  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

man,  not  without  ambition  in  his  humble  sphere.  The  death 
of  his  predecessor  had  been  mentioned  in  the  newspapers, 
so  that  his  name  had  appeared  in  print  throughout  the  land. 
When  Johnny  succeeded  to  the  guardianship  of  the  ruin,  he 
stipulated  that,  on  his  death,  his  name  should  receive  like 
honorable  blazon ;  with  this  addition,  that  it  should  be  from 
the  pen  of  Scott.  The  latter  gravely  pledged  himself  to  pay 
this  tribute  to  his  memory,  and  Johnny  now  lived  in  the  proud 
anticipation  of  a  poetic  immortality. 

12.  I  found  Johnny  Bower  a  decent-looking  little  old  man, 
in  blue  coat  and  red  waistcoat.     He  received  us  with  much 
greeting,  and  seemed  delighted  to  see  my  young  companion, 
who  was  full  of  merriment  and  waggery,  drawing  out  his 
peculiarities  for  my  amusement.     The  old  man  was  one  of  the 
most  authentic  and  particular  of  cicerones;   he  pointed  out 
everything  in  the  Abbey  that  had  been  described  by  Scott 
in  his  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel";   and  would  repeat,  with 
broad  Scottish  accent,  the  passage  which  celebrated  it. 

13.  Thus,  in  passing  through  the  cloisters,  he  made  me 
remark  the  beautiful  carvings  of  leaves  and  flowers  wrought 
in  stone  with  the  most  exquisite  delicacy,  and,  notwithstand 
ing  the  lapse  of  centuries,  retaining  their  sharpness  as  if  fresh 
from  the  chisel ;  rivalling,  as  Scott  has  said,  the  real  objects 
of  which  they  were  imitations,  — 

"Nor  herb  nor  flowret  glistened  there 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister  arches  as  fair." 

14.  He  pointed  out  also  among  the  carved  work  a  nun's 
head  of  much  beauty,  which  he  said  Scott  always  stopped 
to  admire,  —  •  "for  the  shirra  had  a  wonderful  eye  for  all  sic 
matters." 

15.  I  would  observe,  that  Scott  seemed  to  derive  more  con 
sequence  in  the  neighborhood  from  being  sheriff  of  the  county 
than  from  being  poet. 

16.  In  the  interior  of  the  Abbey,  Johnny  Bower  conducted 
me  to  the  identical  stone  on  which  Stout  William  of  Deloraine 
and  the  Monk  took  their  seat  on  that  memorable  night  when 


ABBOTSFOKD  203 

the  wizard's  book  was  to  be  rescued  from  the  grave.  Nay, 
Johnny  had  even  gone  beyond  Scott  in  the  minuteness  of  his 
antiquarian  research,  for  he  had  discovered  the  very  tomb 
of  the  wizard,  the  position  of  which  had  been  left  in  doubt  by 
the  poet.  This  he  boasted  to  have  ascertained  by  the  posi 
tion  of  the  oriel  window,  and  the  direction  in  which  the  moon 
beams  fell  at  night,  through  the  stained  glass,  casting  the 
shadow  to  the  red  cross  on  the  spot ;  as  had  all  been  specified 
in  the  poem.  "I  pointed  out  the  whole  to  the  shirra,"  said 
he,  "and  he  could  na'  gainsay  but  it  was  varra  clear/'  I 
found  afterwards,  that  Scott  used  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  old  man,  and  his  zeal  in  verifying  every 
passage  of  the  poem,  as  though  it  had  been  authentic  history, 
and  that  he  always  acquiesced  in  his  deductions.  I  subjoin 
the  description  of  the  wizard's  grave,  which  called  forth  the 
antiquarian  research  of  Johnny  Bower. 

"Lo,  warrior!   now  the  cross  of  red 
Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead ; 
Slow  moved  the  monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 
Which  the  bloody  cross  was  traced  upon : 
He  pointed  to  a  sacred  nook 
An  iron  bar  the  warrior  took ; 

And  the  monk  made  a  sign  with  his  withered  hand, 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

"  It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength 
That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 
I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Streamed  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 
And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof ! 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Showed  the  monk's  cowl  and  visage  pale, 
Danced  on  the  dark  brown  warrior's  mail, 

And  kissed  his  waving  plume. 

"Before  their  eyes  the  wizard  lay, 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  beard  in  silver  rolled, 
He  seemed  some  seventy  winters  old ; 
A  palmer's  amice  wrapped  him  round; 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea ; 
His  left  hand  held  his  book  of  might ; 
A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right : 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee." 


204  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

17.  The  fictions  of  Scott  had  become  facts  with  honest 
Johnny  Bower.     From   constantly  living  among  the  ruins 
of  Melrose  Abbey,  and  pointing  out  the  scenes  of  the  poem, 
the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel"  had,  in  a  manner,  become 
interwoven  with  his  whole  existence,  and  I  doubt  whether  he 
did  not  now  and  then  mix  up  his  own  identity  with  the  per 
sonages  of  some  of  its  cantos. 

18.  He  could  not  bear  that  any  other  production  of  the 
poet  should  be  preferred  to  the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel/' 
"Faith,"  said  he  to  me,  "it's  just  e'en  as  gude  a  thing  as  Mr. 
Scott  has  written  —  an'  if  he  were  stannin'  there  I'd  tell  him 
so  —an'  then  he'd  lauff." 

19.  He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the  affability  of  Scott. 
"He'll  come  here  sometimes,"  said  he,  "with  great  folks  in 
his  company,  an'  the  first  I  know  of  it  is  his  voice,  calling  out 
Johnny !  —  Johnny  Bower  !  —  and  when  I  go  out,  I  am  sure 
to  be  greeted  with  a  joke  or  a  pleasant  word.     He'll  stand 
and  crack  and  lauff  wi'  me,  just  like  an  auld  wife —  and  to 
think  that  of  a  man  that  has  such  an  awfu'  knowledge  o' 
history ! " 

20.  One  of  the  ingenious  devices  on  which  the  worthy  little 
man  prided  himself,  was  to  place  a  visitor  opposite  to  the 
Abbey,  with  his  back  to  it  and  bid  him  bend  down  and  look 
at  it  between  his  legs.     This,  he  said,  gave  an  entire  different 
aspect  to  the  ruin.     Folks  admired  the  plan  amazingly,  but 
as  to  the  "leddies,"  they  were  dainty  on  the  matter,  and  con 
tented  themselves  with  looking  from  under  their  arms. 

21.  As  Johnny  Bower  piqued  himself  upon  showing  every 
thing  laid  down  in  the  poem,  there  was  one  passage  that  per 
plexed  him  sadly.     It  was  the  opening  of  one  of  the  cantos : 

"If  thpu  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 
Gild  but  to  flout  the  ruins  gray,"  &c. 

22.  In  consequence  of  this  admonition,  many  of  the  most 
devout  pilgrims  to  the  ruin  could  not  be  contented  with  a  day 
light  inspection,  and  insisted  it  could  be  nothing,  unless  seen 
by  the  light  of  the  moon.    Now,  unfortunately,  the  moon 


ABBOTSFORD  205 

shines  but  for  a  part  of  the  month;  and  what  is  still  more 
unfortunate,  is  very  apt  in  Scotland  to  be  obscured  by  clouds 
and  mists.  Johnny  was  sorely  puzzled,  therefore,  how  to 
accommodate  his  poetry-struck  visitors  with  this  indispen 
sable  moonshine.  At  length,  in  a  lucky  moment,  he  devised  a 
substitute.  This  was  a  great  double  tallow  candle,  stuck 
upon  the  end  of  a  pole,  with  which  he  could  conduct  his 
visitors  about  the  ruins  on  dark  nights,  so  much  to  their  satis 
faction  that,  at  length,  he  began  to  think  it  even  preferable 
to  the  moon  itself.  "  It  does  na  light  up  a'  the  Abbey  at  aince, 
to  be  sure,"  he  would  say,  "but  then  you  can  shift  it  about  and 
show  the  auld  ruin  bit  by  bit,  whiles  the  moon  only  shines  on 
one  side/' 


MELROSB  ABBEY 

23.  Honest  Johnny  Bower !   so  many  years  have  elapsed 
since  the  time  I  treat  of,  that  it  is  more  than  probable  his 
simple  head  lies  beneath  the  walls  of  his  favorite  Abbey.     It  is 
to  be  hoped  his  humble  ambition  has  been  gratified,  and  his 
name  recorded  by  the  pen  of  the  man  he  so  loved  and  honored. 

24.  After  my  return  from  Melrose  Abbey,  Scott  proposed 
a  ramble  to  show  me  something  of  the  surrounding  country. 
As  we  sallied  forth,  every  dog  in  the  establishment  turned  out 
to  attend  us.      There  was  the  old  stag-hound  Maida,  that  I 
have  already  mentioned,  a  noble  animal,  and  a  great  favorite 
of  Scott's ;  and  Hamlet,  the  black  greyhound,  a  wild  thought 
less  youngster,  not  yet  arrived  to  the  years  of  discretion ;  and 


206  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Finette,  a  beautiful  setter,  with  soft  silken  hair,  long  pendent 
ears,  and  a  mild  eye,  the  parlor  favorite.  When  in  the  front  of 
the  house,  we  were  joined  by  a  superannuated  greyhound, 
who  came  from  the  kitchen  wagging  his  tail,  and  was  cheered 
by  Scott  as  an  old  friend  and  comrade. 

25.  In  our  walks,  Scott  would  frequently  pause  in  con 
versation  to  notice  his  dogs  and  speak  to  them,  as  if  rational 
companions;   and  indeed  there  appears  to  be  a  vast  deal  of 
rationality  in  these  faithful  attendants  on  man,  derived  from 
their  close  intimacy  with  him.     Maida  deported  himself  with 
a  gravity  becoming  his  age  and  size,  and  seemed  to  consider 
himself  called  upon  to  preserve  a  great  degree  of  dignity  and 
decorum  in  our  society.     As  he  jogged  along  a  little  distance 
ahead  of  us,  the  young  dogs  would  gambol  about  him,  leap 
on  his  neck,  worry  at  his  ears,  and  endeavor  to  tease  him 
into  a  frolic.     The  old  dog  would  keep  on  for  a  long  time  with 
imperturbable  solemnity,  now  and  then  seeming  to  rebuke  the 
wantonness  of  his  young  companions.     At  length  he  would 
make  a  sudden  turn,  seize  one  of  them,  and  tumble  him  in  the 
dust;   then  giving  a  glance  at  us,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You 
see,  gentlemen,  I  can't  help  giving  way  to  this  nonsense/' 
would  resume  his  gravity  and  jog  on  as  before. 

26.  Scott    amused    himself   with    these    peculiarities.    "I 
make  no  doubt/'  said  he,  "when  Maida  is  alone  with  these 
young  dogs,  he  throws  gravity  aside,  and  plays  the  boy  as 
much  as  any  of  them;   but  he  is  ashamed  to  do  so  in  our 
company,  and  seems  to  say,  'Ha'  done  with  your  nonsense, 
youngsters;    what  will  the  laird  and  that  other  gentleman 
think  of  rne  if  I  give  way  to  such  foolery  ? ' '; 

27.  Maida  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  a  scene  on  board  an 
armed  yacht  in  which  he  made  an  excursion  with  his  friend 
Adam  Ferguson.     They  had  taken  much  notice  of  the  boat 
swain,  who  was  a   fine  sturdy  seaman,  and    evidently  felt 
flattered  by  their  attention.     On  one  occasion  the  crew  were 
"piped  to  fun/'  and  the  sailors  were  dancing  and  cutting  all 
kinds  of  capers  to  the  music  of  the  ship's  band.     The  boat 
swain  looked  on  with  a  wistful  eye,  as  if  he  would  like  to  join 
in ;  but  a  glance  at  Scott  and  Ferguson  showed  that  there  was 


ABBOTSFORD  207 

a  struggle  with  his  dignity,  fearing  to  lessen  himself  in  their 
eyes.  At  length  one  of  his  messmates  came  up,  and,  seizing 
him  by  the  arm,  challenged  him  to  a  jig.  "The  boatswain," 
continued  Scott,  "  after  a  little  hesitation  complied,  made  an 
awkward  gambol  or  two,  like  our  friend  Maida,  but  soon  gave 
it  up.  'It's  of  no  use/  said  he,  jerking  up  his  waistband  and 
giving  a  side-glance  at  us,  'one  can't  dance  always  nouther.'" 

28.  Scott  amused  himself  with  the  peculiarities  of  another 
of  his  dogs,  a  little  shamefaced  terrier,  with  large  glassy  eyes, 
one  of  the  most  sensitive  little  bodies  to  insult  and  indignity 
in  the  world.     If  ever  he  whipped  him,  he  said,  the  little 
fellow  would  sneak  off  and  hide  himself  from  the  light  of  day, 
in  a  lumber-garret,  whence  there  was  no  drawing  him  forth 
but  by  the  sound  of  the  chopping-knife,  as  if  chopping  up  his 
victuals,  when  he  would  steal  forth  with  humbled  and  down 
cast  look,  but  would  skulk  away  again  if  any  one  regarded 
him. 

29.  While  we  were  discussing  the  humors  and  peculiarities 
of  our  canine  companions,  some  object  provoked  their  spleen, 
and  produced  a  sharp  and  petulant  barking  from  the  smaller 
fry,  but  it  was  some  time  before  Maida  was  sufficiently  aroused 
to  ramp  forward  two  or  three  bounds  and  join  in  the  chorus, 
with  a  deep-mouthed  bow-wow! 

30.  It  was  but  a  transient  outbreak,  and  he  returned  in 
stantly,  wagging  his  tail,  and  looking  up  dubiously  in  his 
master's  face;    uncertain  whether  he  would  censure  or  ap 
plaud. 

31.  "Aye,  aye,  old  boy!"  cried  Scott,  "you  have  done 
wonders.    You  have  shaken  the  Eildon  hills  with  your  roaring ; 
you  may  now  lay  by  your  artillery  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
Maida  is  like  the  great  gun  at  Constantinople,"  continued  he ; 
"it  takes  so  long  to  get  it  ready,  that  the  small  guns  can  fire 
off  a  dozen  times  first,  but  when  it  does  go  off  it  plays  the 
very  d— 1." 

32.  These  simple  anecdotes  may  serve  to  show  the  delight 
ful  play  of  Scott's  humors  and  feelings  in  private  life.     His 
domestic  animals  were  his  friends;    everything  about  him 
seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  light  of  his  countenance :  the  face  of 


208  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

the  humblest  dependant  brightened  at  his  approach,  as  if  he 
anticipated  a  cordial  and  cheering  word.  I  had  occasion  to 
observe  this  particularly  in  a  visit  which  we  paid  to  a  quarry, 
whence  several  men  were  cutting  stone  for  the  new  edifice ; 
who  all  paused  from  their  labor  to  have  a  pleasant  "  crack  wi' 
the  laird."  One  of  them  was  a  burgess  of  Selkirk,  with  whom 
Scott  had  some  joke  about  the  old  song,  — 

"Up  with  the  Souters  o*  Selkirk, 
And  down  with  the  Earl  of  Home." 

Another  was  precentor  at  the  Kirk,  and,  beside  leading  the 
psalmody  on  Sunday,  taught  the  lads  and  lasses  of  the 
neighborhood  dancing  on  week-days,  in  the  winter-time,  when 
out-of-door  labor  was  scarce. 

33.  Among  the  rest  was  a  tall,  straight  old  fellow,  with  a 
healthful    complexion    and  silver  hair,  and  a  small  round- 
crowned  white  hat.     He  had  been  about  to  shoulder  a  hod, 
but  paused,  and  stood  looking  at  Scott,  with  a  slight  spark 
ling  of  his  blue  eye,  as  if  waiting  his  turn ;  for  the  old  fellow 
knew  himself  to  be  a  favorite. 

34.  Scott  accosted  him  in  an  affable  tone,  and  asked  for  a 
pinch  of  snuff.     The  old  man  drew  forth  a  horn  snuff-box. 
"Hoot,  man,"  said  Scott,  "not  that  old  mull:  where's  the 
bonnie   French   one   that   I   brought   you  from   Paris  ? "  — 
"Troth,  your  honor,"  replied  the  old  fellow,  "sic  a  mull  as 
that  is  nae  for  week-days." 

35.  On  leaving  the  quarry,  Scott  informed  me  that  when 
absent  at  Paris,  he  had  purchased  several  trifling  articles  as 
presents  for  his  dependants,  and  among  others  the  gay  snuff 
box  in  question,  which  was  so  carefully  reserved  for  Sundays 
by  the  veteran.     " It  was  not  so  much  the  value  of  the  gifts," 
said  he,  "that  pleased  them,  as  the  idea  that  the  laird  should 
think  of  them  when  so  far  away." 

36.  The  old  man  in  question,  I  found,  was  a  great  favorite 
with  Scott.     If  I  recollect  right,  he  had  been  a  soldier  in  early 
life,  and  his  straight,  erect  person,  his  ruddy  yet  rugged  coun 
tenance,  his  gray  hair,  and  an  arch  gleam  in  his  blue  eye,  re- 


ABBOTSFORD  209 

minded  me  of  the  description  of  Edie  Ochiltree.  I  find  that 
the  old  fellow  has  since  been  introduced  by  Wilkie,  in  his 
picture  of  the  Scott  family. 

37.  We  rambled  on  among  scenes  which  had  been  familiar 
in  Scottish  song,  and  rendered  classic  by  the  pastoral  muse, 
long  before  Scott  had  thrown  the  rich  mantle  of  his  poetry 
over  them.     What  a  thrill  of  pleasure  did  I  feel  when  first  I 
saw  the  broom-covered  tops  of  the  Cowden  Knowes,  peeping 
above  the  gray  hills  of  the  Tweed;   and  what  touching  as 
sociations  were  called  up  by  the  sight  of  Ettrick  Vale,  Galla 
Water,  and  the  Braes  of  Yarrow !     Every  turn  brought  to 
mind  some  household  air  —  some  almost  forgotten  song  of 
the  nursery,  by  which  I  had  been  lulled  to  sleep  in  my  child 
hood  ;  and  with  them  the  looks  and  voices  of  those  who  had 
sung  them,  and  who  were  now  no  more.     It  is  these  melodies, 
chanted  in  our  ears  in  the  days  of  infancy,  and  connected  with 
the  memory  of  those  we  have  loved,  and  who  have  passed 
away,  that  clothe  Scottish  landscape  with  such  tender  associa 
tions.     The  Scottish  songs,  in  general,  have  something  intrinsi 
cally  melancholy  in  them ;  owing,  in  all  probability,  to  the  pas 
toral  and  lonely  life  of  those  who  composed  them ;   who  were 
often  mere  shepherds,  tending  their  flocks  in  the  solitary  glens, 
or  folding  them  among  the  naked  hills.      Many  of  these  rustic 
bards  have  passed  away,  without  leaving  a  name  behind  them ; 
nothing  remains  of  them  but  their  sweet  and  touching  songs, 
which  live,  like  echoes,  about  the  places  they  once  inhabited. 
Most  of  these  simple  effusions  of  pastoral  poets  are  linked 
with  some  favorite  haunt  of  the  poet ;  and  in  this  way,  not  a 
mountain  or  valley,  a  town  or  tower,  green  shaw  or  running 
stream,  in  Scotland,  but  has  some  popular  air  connected  with 
it,  that  makes  its  very  name  a  key-note  to  a  whole  train  of 
delicious  fancies  and  feelings. 

38.  Let  me  step  forward  in  time,  and  mention  how  sensible 
I  was  to  the  power  of  these  simple  airs,  in  a  visit  which  I  made 
to  Ayr,  the  birthplace  of  Robert  Burns.     I  passed  a  whole 
morning  about  "the  banks  and  braes  of  bonnie  Doon,"  with 
his  tender  little  love-verses  running  in  my  head.  I  found  a  poor 
Scotch  carpenter  at  work  among  the  ruins  of  Kirk  Alloway, 


210  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

which  was  to  be  converted  into  a  school-house.  Finding  the 
purpose  of  my  visit,  he  left  his  work,  sat  down  with  me  on  a 
grassy  grave,  close  by  where  Burns'  father  was  buried,  and 
talked  of  the  poet,  whom  he  had  known  personally.  He  said 
his  songs  were  familiar  to  the  poorest  and  most  illiterate  of 
the  country  folk,  "and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  country  had 
grown  more  beautiful  since  Burns  had  written  his  bonny  little 
songs  about  it." 

39.  I  found  Scott  was  quite  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject 
of  the  popular  songs  of  his  country,  and  he  seemed  gratified 
to  find  me  so  alive  to  them.     Their  effect  in  calling  up  in  my 
mind  the  recollections  of  early  times  and  scenes  in  which  I  had 
first  heard  them,  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  the  lines  of  his 
poor  friend,  Leyden,  to  the  Scottish  Muse :  — 

"In  youth's  first  morn,  alert  and  gay, 
Ere  rolling  years  had  passed  away, 
Remembered  like  a  morning  dream, 
I  heard  the  dulcet  measures  float, 
In  many  a  liquid  winding  note, 

Along  the  bank  of  Teviot's  stream. 

"Sweet  sounds  !   that  oft  have  soothed  to  rest 
The  sorrows  of  my  guileless  breast, 
And  charmed  away  mine  infant  tears ; 
Fond  memory  shall  your  strains  repeat, 
Like  distant  echoes,  doubly  sweet, 

That  on  the  wild  the  traveller  hears." 

40.  Scott  went  on  to  expatiate  on  the  popular  songs  of 
Scotland.     "  They  are  a  part  of   our  national  inheritance," 
said  he,  "  and  something  that  we  may  truly  call  our  own.   They 
have  no  foreign  taint;    they  have  the  pure  breath  of  the 
heather  and  the  mountain  breeze.     All  the  genuine  legitimate 
races  that  have  descended  from  the  ancient  Britons,  such  as 
the  Scotch,  the  Welsh,  and  the  Irish,  have  national  airs. 
The  English  have  none,  because  they  are  not  natives  of  the 
soil,  or,  at  least,  are  mongrels.     Their  music  is  all  made  up 
of  foreign  scraps,  like  a  harlequin  jacket,  or  a  piece  of  mosaic. 
Even  in  Scotland  we  have  comparatively  few  national  songs 
in  the  eastern  part,  where  we  have  had  most  influx  of  strangers. 
A  real  old  Scottish  song  is  a  cairn  gorm  —  a  gem  of  our  own 


ABBOTSFORD  211 

mountains ;  or,  rather,  it  is  a  precious  relic  of  old  times,  that 
bears  the  national  character  stamped  upon  it,  —  like  a  cameo, 
that  shows  where  the  national  visage  was  in  former  days, 
before  the  breed  was  crossed." 

41.  While   Scott  was  thus  discoursing,  we  were  passing 
up  a  narrow  glen,  with  the  dogs  beating  about,  to  right  and 
left,  when  suddenly  a  black  cock  burst  upon  the  wing. 

42.  "Aha!"  cried  Scott,  " there  will  be  a  good  shot  for 
master  Walter;   we  must  send  him  this  way  with  his  gun, 
when  we  go  home.     Walter's  the  family  sportsman  now,  and 
keeps  us  in  game.     I  have  pretty  nigh  resigned  my  gun  to 
him  ;  for  I  find  I  cannot  trudge  about  as  briskly  as  formerly." 

43.  Our  ramble  took  us  on  the  hills  commanding  an  ex 
tensive  prospect.     "Now,"  said  Scott,  "I  have  brought  you, 
like  the  pilgrim  in  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress/  to  the  top  of  the 
Delectable  Mountains,  that  I  may  show  you  all  the  goodly 
regions    hereabouts.     Yonder    is    Lammermuir,    and    Smal- 
holme;    and  there  you  have  Gallashiels,   and  Torwoodlie, 
and  Galla  Water;  and  in  that  direction  you  see  Teviotdale 
and  the  Braes  of  Yarrow;  and  Ettrick  stream,  winding  alo.'g, 
like  a  silver  thread,  to  throw  itself  into  the  Tweed." 

44.  He  went  on  thus  to  call  over  names  celebrated  in 
Scottish  song,  and  most  of  which  had  recently  received  a 
romantic  interest  from  his  own  pen.     In  fact,  I  saw  a  great 
part  of  the  border  country  spread  out  before  me,  and  could 
trace  the  scenes  of  those  poems  and  romances  which  had,  in  a 
manner,  bewitched  the  world.     I  gazed  about  me  for  a  time 
with  mute  surprise,  I  may  almost  say  with  disappointment. 
I  beheld  a  mere  succession  of  gray  waving  hills,  line  beyond 
line,  as  far  as  my  eye  could  reach ;  monotonous  in  their  as 
pect,  and  so  destitute  of  trees  that  one  could  almost  see  a 
stout  fly  walking  along  their  profile;    and  the  far-famed 
Tweed  appeared  a  naked  stream,  flowing  between  bare  hills, 
without  a  tree  or  thicket  on  its  banks ;  and  yet,  such  had  been 
the  magic  web  of  poetry  and  romance  thrown  over  the  whole, 
that  it  had  a  greater  charm  for  me  than  the  richest  scenery  I 
beheld  in  England. 

45.  I  could  not  help  giving  utterance  to  my  thoughts. 


212  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Scott  hummed  for  a  moment  to  himself,  and  looked  grave; 
he  had  no  idea  of  having  his  muse  complimented  at  the  ex 
pense  of  his  native  hills.  "It  may  be  partiality/'  said  he,  at 
length;  "but  to  my  eye  these  gray  hills  and  all  this  wild 
border  country  have  beauties  peculiar  to  themselves.  I  like 
the  very  nakedness  of  the  land ;  it  has  something  bold,  and 
stern,  and  solitary  about  it.  When  I  have  been  for  some 
time  in  the  rich  scenery  about  Edinburgh,  which  is  like  orna 
mented  garden-land,  I  begin  to  wish  myself  back  again  among 
my  own  honest  gray  hills  ;  and  if  I  did  not  see  the  heather  at 
least  once  a  year,  /  think  I  should  die!" 

46.  The  last  words  were  said  with  an  honest  warmth, 
accompanied  with  a  thump  on  the  ground  with  his  staff,  by 
way  of  emphasis,  that  showed  his  heart  was  in  his  speech. 
He  vindicated  the  Tweed,  too,  as  a  beautiful  stream  in  itself, 
and  observed  that  he  did  not  dislike  it  for  being  bare  of  trees, 
probably  from  having  been  much  of  an  angler  in  his  time, 
and  an  angler  does  not  like  to  have  a  stream  overhung  by 
trees,  which  embarrass  him  in  the  exercise  of  his  rod  and  line. 

47.  I  took  occasion  to  plead,  in  like  manner,  the  associa 
tions  of  early  life,  for  my  disappointment  in  respect  to  the 
surrounding  scenery.     I  had  been  so  accustomed  to  hills 
crowned  with  forests,  and  streams  breaking  their  way  through 
a  wilderness  of  trees,  that  all  my  ideas  of  romantic  landscape 
were  apt  to  be  well  wooded. 

48.  "Aye,  and  that's  the  great  charm  of  your  country," 
cried  Scott.     "You  love  the  forest  as  I  do  the  heather, — 
but  I  would  not  have  you  think  I  do  not  feel  the  glory  of  a 
great  woodland  prospect.     There  is  nothing  I  should  like 
more  than  to  be  in  the  midst  of  one  of  your  grand,  wild,  origi 
nal  forests :  with  the  idea  of  hundreds  of  miles  of  untrodden 
forest  around  me.     I  once  saw,  at  Leith,  an  immense  stick 
of  timber,  just  landed  from  America.     It  must  have  been  an 
enormous  tree  when  it  stood  on  its  native  soil,  at  its  full 
height,  and  with  all  its  branches.     I  gazed  at  it  with  admira 
tion  ;  it  seemed  like  one  of  the  gigantic  obelisks  which  are  now 
and  then  brought  from  Egypt,  to  shame  the  pigmy  monu 
ments  of  Europe;    and,  in  fact,  these  vast  aboriginal  trees, 


ABBOTSFORD  213 

that  have  sheltered  the  Indians  before  the  intrusion  of  the 
white  men,  are  the  monuments  and  antiquities  of  your  coun 
try." 

49.  The  conversation  here  turned  upon  Campbell's  poem 
of   " Gertrude   of  Wyoming,"  as  illustrative   of  the   poetic 
materials  furnished  by  American  scenery.     Scott  spoke  of  it 
in  that  liberal  style  in  which  I  always  found  him  to  speak  of 
the  writings  of  his  contemporaries.     He  cited  several  pas 
sages  of  it  with  great  delight.     "What  a  pity  it  is,"  said 
he,  "that  Campbell  does  not  write  more  and  oftener,  and 
give  full  sweep  to  his  genius.     He  has  wings  that  would  bear 
him  to  the  skies;   and  he  does  now  and  then  spread  them 
grandly,  but  folds  them  up  again  and  resumes  his  perch, 
as    if   he    was   afraid   to  launch  away.     He  don't  know  or 
won't  trust  his  own  strength.     Even  when  he  has  done  a 
thing  well,  he  has  often  misgivings  about  it.     He  left  out 
several  fine  passages  of  his  'Lochiel,'  but  I  got  him  to  restore 
some  of  them."    Here  Scott  repeated  several    passages    in 
a  magnificent   style.     "What  a  grand    idea  is  that,"  said 
he,    "about   prophetic    boding,    or,    in    common    parlance, 
second  sight,  — 

"'Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before.' 

It  is  a  noble  thought,  and  nobly  expressed.  And  there's  that 
glorious  little  poem,  too,  of  '  Hohenlinden ' ;  after  he  had 
written  it,  he  did  not  seem  to  think  much  of  it,  but  con 
sidered  some  of  it  'd — d  drum  and  trumpet  lines.'  I  got 
him  to  recite  it  to  me,  and  I  believe  that  the  delight  I  felt 
and  expressed  had  an  effect  in  inducing  him  to  print  it.  The 
fact  is,"  added  he,  "Campbell  is,  in  a  manner,  a  bugbear 
to  himself.  The  brightness  of  his  early  success  is  a  detri 
ment  to  all  his  further  efforts.  He  is  afraid  of  the  shadow 
that  his  own  fame  casts  before  him.'1 

50.  While  we  were  thus  chatting,  we  heard  the  report  of 
a  gun  among  the  hills.     "That's  Walter,  I  think,"  said  Scott; 
"he  has  finished  his  morning's  studies,  and  is  out  with  his  gun. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  had  met  with  the  black  cock ; 


214  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

if  so,  we  shall  have  an  addition  to  our  larder,  for  Walter  is 
a  pretty  sure  shot." 

51.  I    inquired     into    the    nature    of    Walter's    studies. 
"Faith/'  said  Scott,  "I  can't  say  much  on  that  head.     I  am 
not  over-bent  upon  making  prodigies  of  any  of  my  children. 
As  to  Walter,  I  taught  him,  while  a  boy,  to  ride,  and  shoot, 
and  speak  the  truth ;   as  to  the  other  parts  of  his  education, 
I  leave  them  to  a  very  worthy  young  man,  the  son  of  one  of 
our  clergymen,  who  instructs  all  my  children." 

52.  I  afterwards  became  acquainted  with  the  young  man 
in  question,  George  Thomson,  son  of  the  minister  of  Melrose, 
and  found  him  possessed  of  much  learning,  intelligence,  and 
modest  worth.     He  used  to  come  every  day  from  his  father's 
residence  at  Melrose,  to  superintend  the  studies  of  the  young 
folks,  and  occasionally  took  his  meals  at  Abbotsford,  where 
he  was  highly  esteemed.     Nature  had  cut  him  out,  Scott 
used  to  say,  for  a  stalwart  soldier ;  for  he  was  tall,  vigorous, 
active,   and  fond   of  athletic  exercises;    but  accident  had 
marred  her  work,  the  loss  of  a  limb  in  boybood  having  re 
duced  him  to  a  wooden  leg.     He  was  brought  up,  therefore, 
for  the  church,  whence  he  was  occasionally  called  the  Domi 
nie,  and  is  supposed,  by  his  mixture  of  learning,  simplicity, 
and  amiable  eccentricity,  to  have  furnished  many  traits  for 
the  character  of  Dominie  Sampson.     I  believe  he  often  acted 
as  Scott's  amanuensis,  when  composing  his  novels.     With  him 
the  young  people  were  occupied,  in  general,  during  the  early 
part  of  the  day,  after  which  they  took  all  kinds  of  healthful 
recreations  in  the  open  air;    for  Scott  was  as  solicitous  to 
strengthen  their  bodies  as  their  minds. 

53.  We  had  not  walked  much  further  before  we  saw  the 
two  Miss  Scotts  advancing  along  the  hillside  to  meet  us. 
The  morning's  studies  being  over,  they  had  set  off  to  take  a 
ramble  on  the  hills,  and  gather  heather-blossoms  with  which 
to  decorate  their  hair  for  dinner.     As  they  came  bounding 
lightly  like  young  fawns,  and  their  dresses  fluttering  in  the 
pure  summer  breeze,  I  was  reminded  of  Scott's  own  descrip 
tion  of  his  children  in  his  introduction  to  one  of  the  cantos 
of  "Marmion,"  — 


ABBOTSFORD  215 

"My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain-child, 
Their  summer  gambols  tell  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask  will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  ?  " 

''Yes,  prattlers,  yes,  the  daisy's  flower, 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower  ; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie ; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day." 

As  they  approached,  the  dogs  all  sprang  forward  and  gam 
bolled  around  them.  They  played  with  them  for  a  time,  and 
then  joined  us  with  countenances  full  of  health  and  glee. 
Sophia,  the  eldest,  was  the  most  lively  and  joyous,  having 
much  of  her  father's  varied  spirit  in  conversation,  and  seeming 
to  catch  excitement  from  his  words  and  looks.  Ann  was 
of  quieter  mood,  rather  silent,  owing,  in  some  measure,  no 
doubt,  to  her  being  some  years  younger. 

54.  At  dinner,  Scott  had  laid  by  his  half  rustic  dress,  and 
appeared  clad  in  black.     The  girls,  too,  in  completing  their 
toilet,  had  twisted  in  their  hair  the  sprigs  of  purple  heather 
which  they  had  gathered  on  the  hill-side,  and  looked  all  fresh 
and  blooming  from  their  breezy  walk. 

55.  There  was  no  guest  at  dinner  but  myself.     Around 
the  table  were  two  or  three  dogs  in  attendance.     Maida,  the 
old  stag-hound,  took  his  seat  at  Scott's  elbow,  looking  up 
wistfully  in  his  master's  eye,  while  Finette,  the  pet  spaniel, 
placed  herself  near  Mrs.  Scott,  by  whom,  I  soon  perceived, 
she  was  completely  spoiled. 

56.  The  conversation  happening  to  turn  on  the  merits 
of  his  dogs,  Scott  spoke  with  great  feeling  and  affection  of  his 
favorite,  Camp,  who   is  depicted   by  his  side  in  the  earlier 
engravings  of  him.     He  talked  of  him  as  of  a  real  friend  whom 
he  had  lost ;  and  Sophia  Scott,  looking  up  archly  in  his  face, 
observed  that  papa  shed  a  few  tears  when  poor  Camp  died. 
I  may  here  mention  another  testimonial  of  Scott's  fondness 


216  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

for  his  dogs,  and  his  humorous  mode  of  showing  it,  which  I 
subsequently  met  with.  Rambling  with  him  one  morning 
about  the  grounds  adjacent  to  the  house,  I  observed  a  small 
antique  monument,  on  which  was  inscribed,  in  Gothic  char 
acters,  — 

"  Cy  git  le  preux  Percy." 
(Here  lies  the  brave  Percy.) 

I  paused,  supposing  it  to  be  the  tomb  of  some  stark  warrior  of 
the  olden  time,  but  Scott  drew  me  on.  "Pooh!"  cried  he, 
"it's  nothing  but  one  of  the  monuments  of  my  nonsense,  of 
which  you'll  find  enough  hereabouts."  I  learnt  afterwards 
that  it  was  the  grave  of  a  favorite  greyhound. 

57.  Among  the  other  important  and  privileged  members 
of  the  household  who  figured  in  attendance  at  the  dinner,  was 
a  large  gray  cat,  who,  I  observed,  was  regaled  from  time  to 
time  with  titbits  from  the  table.     This  sage  grimalkin  was  a 
favorite  of  both  master  and  mistress,  and  slept  at  night  in 
their  room ;   and  Scott  laughingly  observed,  that  one  of  the 
least  wise  parts  of  their  establishment  was,  that  the  window 
was  left  open  at  night  for  puss  to  go  in  and  out.     The  cat 
assumed  a  kind  of  ascendency  among  the  quadrupeds  —  sit 
ting  in  state  in  Scott's  arm-chair,  and  occasionally  stationing 
himself  on  a  chair  beside  the  door,  as  if  to  review  his  subjects 
as  they  passed,  giving  each  dog  a  cuff  beside  the  ears  as  he 
went  by.   This  clapper-clawing  was  always  taken  in  good  part ; 
it  appeared  to  be,  in  fact,  a  mere  act  of  sovereignty  on  the 
part  of  grimalkin,  to  remind  the  others  of  their  vassalage ; 
which  they  acknowledged  by  the  most  perfect  acquiescence. 
A  general  harmony  prevailed  between  sovereign  and  sub 
jects,  and  they  would  all  sleep  together  in  the  sunshine. 

58.  Scott  was  full  of  anecdote  and  conversation  during 
dinner.     He  made  some  admirable  remarks  upon  the  Scot 
tish  character,   and  spoke  strongly  in  praise  of  the  quiet, 
orderly,  honest  conduct   of  his  neighbors,  which  one  would 
hardly  expect,  said  he,  from  the  descendants  of  moss-troopers 
and  borderers,   in  a  neighborhood  famed  in  old  times  for 
brawl  and  feud,  and  violence  of  all  kinds.     He  said  he  had, 


ABBOTSFORD 


217 


in  his  official  capacity  of  sheriff,  administered  the  laws  for  a 
number  of  years,  during  which  there  had  been  very  few  trials. 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 
After  the  painting  by  Sir  W.  Allan,  in  1832 

The  old  feuds  and  local  interests,  and  rivalries,  and  ani 
mosities  of  the  Scotch,  however,  still  slept,  he  said,  in  their 
ashes,  and  might  easily  be  roused.  Their  hereditary  feeling 
for  names  was  still  great.  It  was  not  always  safe  to  have 


218  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

even  the  game  of  foot-ball  between  villages,  the  old  clannish 
spirit  was  too  apt  to  break  out.  The  Scotch,  he  said,  were 
more  revengeful  than  the  English;  they  carried  their  re 
sentments  longer,  and  would  sometimes  lay  them  by  for  years, 
but  would  be  sure  to  gratify  them  in  the  end. 

59.  The  ancient  jealousy  between  the   Highlanders  and 
the  Lowlanders  still  continued  to  a  certain  degree,  the  former 
looking  upon  the  latter  as  an  inferior  race,  less  brave  and 
hardy,  but  at  the  same  time  suspecting  them  of  a  disposition 
to  take  airs  upon  themselves  under  the  idea  of  superior  re 
finement.     This   made   them    techy   and   ticklish    company 
for  a  stranger  on  his  first  coming  among  them ;  ruffling  up  and 
putting  themselves  upon  their  mettle  on  the  slightest  occa 
sion,  so  that  he  had  in  a  manner  to  quarrel  and  fight  his  way 
into  their  good  graces. 

60.  He  instanced  a  case  in  point  in  a  brother  of  Mungo 
Park,  who  went  to  take  up  his  residence  in  a  wild  neighbor 
hood  of  the  Highlands.     He  soon  found  himself  considered  as 
an  intruder,  and  that  there  was  a  disposition  among  these 
cocks  of  the  hills  to  fix  a  quarrel  on  him,  trusting  that,  being 
a  Lowlander,  he  would  show  the  white  feather. 

61.  For  a  time  he  bore  their  flings  and  taunts  with  great 
coolness,  until  one,  presuming  on  his  forbearance,  drew  forth  a 
dirk,  and  holding  it  before  him,  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen 
a  weapon  like  that  in  his  part  of  the  country.     Park,  who  was 
a  Hercules  in  frame,  seized  the  dirk,  and,  with  one  blow,  drove 
it  through  an  oaken  table.     "Yes,"  replied  he,  "and    tell 
your  friends  that  a  man  from  the  Lowlands  drove  it  where  the 
devil  himself  cannot  draw  it  out  again."      All  persons  were 
delighted  with  the  feat,  and  the  words  that  accompanied  it. 
They  drank  with  Park  to  a  better  acquaintance,  and  were 
stanch  friends  ever  afterwards. 

62.  After  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  which 
served  also  for  study  and  library.     Against  the  wall  on  one 
side  was  a  long  writing-table,  with  drawers ;  surmounted  by 
a  small  cabinet  of  polished  wood,  with  folding-doors  richly 
studded  with  brass  ornaments,  within  which  Scott  kept  his 


ABBOTSFORD  219 

most  valuable  papers.  Above  the  cabinet,  in  a  kind  of  niche, 
was  a  complete  corselet  of  glittering  steel,  with  a  closed  hel 
met,  and  flanked  by  gauntlets  and  battle-axes.  Around  were 
hung  trophies  and  relics  of  various  kinds :  a  cimeter  of  Tippoo 
Saib;  a  Highland  broadsword  from  Floddenfield ;  a  pair  of 
Ripon  spurs  from  Bannockburn,  and  above  all,  a  gun  which 
had  belonged  to  Rob  Roy,  and  bore  his  initials,  R.  M.  G.,  — 
an  object  of  peculiar  interest  to  me  at  the  time,  as  it  was 
understood  Scott  was  actually  engaged  in  printing  a  novel 
founded  on  the  story  of  that  famous  outlaw. 

63.  On   each   side   of  the   cabinet   were   bookcases,   well 
stored  with  works  of  romantic  fiction  in  various  languages, 
many  of  them   rare  and  antiquated.     This,   however,   was 
merely  his  cottage  library,  the  principal  part  of  his  books 
being  at  Edinburgh. 

64.  From  this  little  cabinet  of  curiosities  Scott  drew  forth 
a  manuscript  picked  up  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  containing 
copies  of  several  songs  popular  at  the  time  in  France.     The 
paper  was  dabbled  with  blood — "  the  very  life-blood,  very  pos 
sibly/'  said  Scott,  "of  some  gay  young  officer,  who  had  cher 
ished  these  songs  as  a  keepsake  from  some  lady-love  in  Paris." 

65.  He  adverted  in  a  mellow  and  delightful  manner  to  the 
little  half   gay,  half  melancholy  campaigning  song,  said  to 
have  been  composed  by  General  Wolfe,  and  sung  by  him  at 
the  messtable,  on  the  eve  of  the  storming  of  Quebec,  in  which 
he  fell  so  gloriously. 

"Why,  soldiers,  why, 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys? 
Why,  soldiers,  why, 
Whose  business  'tis  to  die ! 
For  should  next  campaign 
Send  us  to  Him  who  made  us,  boys, 
We're  free  from  pain  : 
But  should  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 
Makes  all  well  again. " 

66.  "So,"  added  he,  "the  poor  lad  who  fell  at  Waterloo,  in 
all  probability,  had  been  singing  these  songs  in  his  tent  the 
night  before  the  battle,  and  thinking  of  the  fair  dame  who  had 


220  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

taught  him  them,  and  promising  himself,  should  he  outlive 
the  campaign,  to  return  to  her  all  glorious  from  the  wars." 

67.  I  find  since  that  Scott  published  translations  of  these 
songs  among  some  of  his  smaller  poems. 

68.  The  evening  passed  away  delightfully  in  this  quaint- 
looking  apartment,  half    study,  half    drawing-room.     Scott 
read  several  passages  from  the  old  romance  of  Arthur,  with 
a  fine  deep  sonorous  voice,  and  a  gravity  of  tone  that  seemed 
to  suit  the  antiquated,  black-letter  volume.     It  was  a  rich 
treat  to  hear  such  a  work,  read  by  such  a  person,  and  in  such 
a  place ;  and  his  appearance  as  he  sat  reading,  in  a  large  armed 
chair,  with  his  favorite  hound  Maida  at  his  feet,  and  sur 
rounded  by  books  and  relics,   and  border  trophies,  would 
have  formed  an  admirable  and  most  characteristic  picture. 

69.  While  Scott  was  reading,  the  sage  grimalkin  already 
mentioned  had  taken  his  seat  in  a  chair  beside  the  fire,  and 
remained  with  fixed  eye  and  grave  demeanor,  as  if  listening 
to  the  reader.     I  observed  to  Scott  that  his  cat  seemed  to 
have  a  black-letter  taste  in  literature. 

70.  "Ah,"  said  he,  "these  cats  are  a  very  mysterious  kind 
of  folk.     There  is  always  more  passing  in  their  minds  than  we 
are  aware  of.     It  comes  no  doubt  from  their  being  so  familiar 
with  witches  and  warlocks."     He  went  on  to  tell  a  little  story 
about  a  gude  man  who  was  returning  to  his  cottage  one  night, 
when,  in  a  lonely  out-of-the-way  place,  he  met  with  a  funeral 
procession  of  cats  all  in  mourning,  bearing  one  of  their  race 
to  the  grave  in  a  coffin  covered  with  a  black  velvet  pall.     The 
worthy  man,  astonished  and  half  frightened  at  so  strange  a 
pageant,  hastened  home  and  told  what  he  had  seen  to  his 
wife  and  children.     Scarce  had  he  finished,  when  a  great 
black  cat  that  sat  beside  the  fire  raised  himself  up,  exclaimed, 
"Then  I  am  king  of  the  cats  I"  and  vanished  up  the  chimney. 
The  funeral  seen  by  the  gude  man  was  one  of  the  cat  dynasty. 

71.  "Our    grimalkin    here,"    added    Scott,    "sometimes 
reminds  me  of  the  story,  by  the  airs  of  sovereignty  which  he 
assumes;   and  I  am  apt  to  treat  him  with  respect  from  the 
idea  that  he  may  be  a  great  prince  incog.,  and  may  some  time 
or  other  come  to  the  throne." 


ABBOTSFORD  221 

72.  In  this  way  Scott  would  make  the  habits  and  pecul 
iarities  of  even  the  dumb  animals  about  him  subjects  for 
humorous  remark  or  whimsical  story. 

73.  Our  evening  was  enlivened  also  by  an  occasional  song 
from  Sophia  Scott,  at  the  request  of  her  father.     She  never 
wanted  to  be  asked  twice,  but  complied  frankly  and  cheer 
fully.     Her  songs  were  a\\  Scotch,  Sung  without  any  accom 
paniment,  in  a  simple  manner,  but  with  great  spirit  and  ex 
pression,  and  in  their  native  dialects,  which  gave  them  an 
additional  charm.     It  was  delightful  to  hear  her  carol  off  in 
sprightly  style,  and  with  an  animated  air,  some  of  those  gener 
ous-spirited  old  Jacobite  songs,  once  current  among  the  ad 
herents  of  the  Pretender  in  Scotland,  in  which  he  is  designated 
by  the  appellation  of  "The  Young  Chevalier." 

74.  These  songs  were  much  relished  by  Scott,  notwithstand 
ing  his  loyalty;  for  the  unfortunate  "Chevalier"  has  always 
been  a  hero  of  romance  with  him,  as  he  has  with  many  other 
stanch  adherents  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  now  that  the 
Stuart  line  has  lost  all  its  terrors.     In  speaking  on  the  subject, 
Scott  mentioned  as  a  curious  fact,  that,  among  the  papers  of 
the  "Chevalier,"  which  had  been  submitted  by  government 
to  his  inspection,  he  had  found  a  memorial  to  Charles  from 
some  adherents  in  America,  dated  1778,  proposing  to  set  up 
his  standard  in  the  back  settlements.     I  regret  that,  at  the 
time,  I  did  not  make  more  particular  inquiries  of  Scott  on  the 
subject;  the  document  in  question,  however,  in  all  probabil 
ity,  still  exists  among  the  Pretender's  papers,  which  are  in 
the  possession  of  the  British  Government. 

75.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Scott  related  the  story 
of  a  whimsical  picture  hanging  in  the  room,  which  had  been 
drawn  for  him  by  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.     It  represented 
the  doleful  perplexity  of  a  wealthy  and  handsome  young  Eng 
lish  knight  of  the  olden  time,  who,  in  the  course  of  a  border 
foray,  had  been  captured  and  carried  off  to  the  castle  of  a  hard- 
headed  and  high-handed  old  baron.    The  unfortunate  youth 
was  thrown  into  a  dungeon,  and  a  tall  gallows  erected  before 
the  castle-gate  for  his  execution.    When  all  was  ready,  he 
was  brought  into  the  castle-hall,  where  the  grim  baron  was 


222  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

seated  in  state,  with  his  warriors  armed  to  the  teeth  around 
him,  and  was  given  his  choice,  either  to  swing  on  the  gibbet 
or  to  marry  the  baron's  daughter.  The  last  may  be  thought 
an  easy  alternative,  but,  unfortunately,  the  baron's  young 
lady  was  hideously  ugly,  with  a  mouth  from  ear  to  ear,  so  that 
not  a  suitor  was  to  be  had  for  her,  either  for  love  or  money, 
and  she  was  known  throughout  the  border  country  by  the 
name  of  Muckle-mouthed  Mag. 

76.  The    picture    in    question    represented   the    unhappy 
dilemma  of  the  handsome  youth.     Before  him  sat  the  grim 
baron,  with  a  face  worthy  of  the  father  of  such  a  daughter, 
and  looking  daggers  and  ratsbane.     On  one  side  of  him  was 
Muckle-mouthed  Mag,   with   an   amorous   smile   across  the 
whole  breadth  of  her  countenance,  and  a  leer  enough  to  turn 
a  man  to  stone ;   on  the  other  side  was  the  father  confessor, 
a  sleek  friar,  jogging  the  youth's  elbow,  and  pointing  to  the 
gallows,  seen  in  perspective  through  the  open  portal. 

77.  The  story  goes,  that,  after  long  laboring  in  mind  be 
tween  the  altar  and  the  halter,  the  love  of  life  prevailed,  and 
the  youth  resigned  himself  to  the  charms  of  Muckle-mouthed 
Mag.     Contrary  to  all  the  probabilities  of  romance,  the  match 
proved  a  happy  one.     The  baron's  daughter,  if  not  beautiful, 
was  a  most  exemplary  wife ;  her  husband  was  never  troubled 
with  any  of  those  doubts  and  jealousies  which  sometimes  mar 
the  happiness  of  connubial  life,  and  was  made  the  father  of 
a  fair  and  undoubtedly  legitimate  line,  which  still  nourishes 
on  the  border. 

78.  I  give  but  a  faint  outline  of  the   story  from   vague 
recollection;    it    may,    perchance,    be   more    richly   related 
elsewhere,  by  some  one  who  may  retain  something  of 'the 
delightful  humor  with  which  Scott  recounted  it. 

79.  When  I  retired  for  the  night,  I  found  it  almost  im 
possible  to  sleep ;   the  idea  of  being  under  the  roof  of  Scott, 
of  being  on  the  borders  of  the  Tweed,  in  the  very  centre  of 
that  region  which  had  for  some  time  past  been  the  favorite 
scene  of   romantic   fiction,  and   above  all   the  recollections 
of    the    ramble    I    had    taken,   the    company    in  which    I 
had  taken  it,  and  the  conversation  which  had  passed,  all 


ABBOTSFORD 


223 


fermented  in   my  mind,   and  nearly  drove  sleep  from  my 
pillow. 

80.  On  the  following  morning  the  sun  darted  his  beams 
from  over  the  hills  through  the  low  lattice  window.  I  rose 
at  an  early  hour,  and  looked  out  between  the  branches  of 
eglantine  which  over-hung  the  casement.  To  my  surprise 
Scott  was  already  up  and  forth,  seated  on  a  fragment  of  stone, 


ABBOTSFORD  AND  THE  EILDON  HILLS 
From  a  photograph  by  Valentine  &  Sons,  Dundee 

and  chatting  with  the  workmen  employed  on  the  new  building. 
I  had  supposed,  after  the  time  he  had  wasted  upon  me  yester 
day,  he  would  be  closely  occupied  this  morning;  but  he  ap 
peared  like  a  man  of  leisure,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  bask 
in  the  sunshine  and  amuse  himself. 

81.  I  soon  dressed  myself  and  joined  him.  He  talked 
about  his  proposed  plans  of  Abbotsford :  happy  would  it  have 
been  for  him  could  he  have  contented  himself  with  his  delight 
ful  little  vine-covered  cottage,  and  the  simple  yet  hearty  and 
hospitable  style  in  which  he  lived  at  the  time  of  my  visit. 
The  great  pile  of  Abbotsford,  with  the  huge  expense  it  en 
tailed  upon  him,  of  servants,  retainers,  guests,  and  baronial 


224  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

style,  was  a  drain  upon  his  purse,  a  tax  upon  his  exertions, 
and  a  weight  upon  his  mind,  that  finally  crushed  him. 

82.  As  yet,  however,  all  was  in  embryo  and  perspective, 
and  Scott  pleased  himself  with  picturing  out  his  future  resi 
dence,  as  he  would  one  of  the  fanciful  creations  of  his  own 
romances.     "It  was  one  of  his  air-castles/'  he  said,  "which 
he  was  reducing  to  solid  stone  and  mortar."    About  the  place 
were  strewed  various  morsels  from  the  ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey, 
which  were  to  be  incorporated  in  his  mansion.     He  had  al 
ready  constructed  out  of  simliar  materials  a  kind  of  Gothic 
shrine  over  a  spring,  and  had  surmounted  it  by  a  small  stone 
cross. 

83.  Among  the  relics  from  the  Abbey  which  lay  scattered 
before  us,  was  a  most  quaint  and  antique  little  lion,  either  of 
red  stone,  or  painted  red,  which  hit  my  fancy.     I  forget  whose 
cognizance  it  was;    but  I  shall  never  forget  the  delightful 
observations  concerning  old  Melrose  to  which  it  accidentally 
gave  rise. 

84.  The  Abbey  was  evidently  a  pile  that  called  up  all 
Scott's  poetic  and  romantic  feelings;    and  one  to  which  he 
was  enthusiastically  attached  by  the  most  fanciful  and  delight 
ful  of  his  early  associations.     He  spoke  of  it,  I  may  say,  with 
affection.     "There  is  no  telling,"  said  he,  "what  treasures 
are  hid  in  that  glorious  old  pile.     It  is  a  famous  place  for 
antiquarian  plunder;    there  are  such  rich  bits  of  old-time 
sculpture  for  the  architect,  and  old-time  story  for  the  poet. 
There  is  as  rare  picking  in  it  as  in  a  Stilton  cheese,  and  in 
the  same  taste  —  the  mouldier  the  better. " 

85.  He  went  on  to  mention   circumstances  of  "mighty 
import"  connected  with  the  Abbey,  which  had  never  been 
touched,   and  which    had  even  escaped    the  researches   of 
Johnny  Bower.     The  heart  of  Robert  Bruce,  the  hero  of 
Scotland,  had  been  buried  in  it.     He  dwelt  on  the  beautiful 
story  of  Bruce 's  pious  and  chivalrous  request  in  his  dying 
hour,  that  his  heart  might  be  carried  to  the  Holy  Land  and 
placed  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  of  pil 
grimage;   and  of  the  loyal  expedition  of  Sir  James  Douglas 
to  convey  the  glorious  relic.    Much  might  be  made,  he  said, 


ABBOTSFORD  225 

out  of  the  adventures  of  Sir  James  in  that  adventurous  age ; 
of  his  fortunes  in  Spain,  and  his  death  in  a  crusade  against  the 
Moors ;  with  the  subsequent  fortunes  of  the  heart  of  Robert 
Bruce  until  it  was  brought  back  to  its  native  land,  and  en 
shrined  within  the  holy  walls  of  old  Melrose. 

86.  As  Scott  sat  on  a  stone  talking  in  this  way,  and  knock 
ing  with  his  staff  against  the  little  red  lion  which  lay  prostrate 
before  him,  his  gray  eyes  twinkled  beneath  his  shagged  eye 
brows;    scenes,  images,  incidents,  kept  breaking  upon  his 
mind  as  he  proceeded,  mingled  with  touches  of  the  mys 
terious  and  supernatural   as   connected  with  the  heart  of 
Bruce.     It  seemed  as  if  a  poem  or  romance  were  breaking 
vaguely  on   his   imagination.     That   he    subsequently  con 
templated  something  of  the  kind,  as  connected  with  this 
subject,  and  with  his  favorite  ruin  of  Melrose,  is  evident  from 
his  introduction  to  "The  Monastery" ;  and  it  is  a  pity  that  he 
never  succeeded  in  following  out  these  shadowy  but  enthusi 
astic  conceptions. 

87.  A  summons  to  breakfast  broke  off  our  conversation, 
when  I  begged  to  recommend  to  Scott's  attention  my  friend 
the  little  red  lion,  who  had  led  to  such  an  interesting  topic, 
and  hoped  he  might  receive  some  niche  or  station  in  the  future 
castle,  worthy  of  his  evident  antiquity  and  apparent  dignity. 
Scott  assured  me,  with  comic  gravity,  that  the  valiant  little 
lion  should  be  most  honorably  entertained ;  I  hope,  therefore, 
that  he  still  flourishes  at  Abbotsford. 

88.  Before  dismissing  the  theme  of  the  relics  from  the 
Abbey,  I  will  mention  another,  illustrative  of  Scott's  varied 
humors.     This  was  a  human  skull,  which  had  probably  be 
longed  of  yore  to  one  of  those  jovial   friars   so  honorably 
mentioned  in  the  old  border  ballad,  — 

"O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  gude  kale 

On  Fridays,  when  they  fasted ; 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 
As  long  as  their  neighbors'  lasted." 

89.  This  skull  Scott  had  caused  to  be  cleaned  and  var 
nished,  and  placed  it  on  a  chest  of  drawers  in  his  chamber, 


226  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

immediately  opposite  his  bed ;  where  I  have  seen  it,  grinning 
most  dismally.  It  was  an  object  of  great  awe  and  horror  to 
the  superstitious  housemaids ;  and  Scott  used  to  amuse  him 
self  with  their  apprehensions.  Sometimes,  in  changing  his 
dress,  he  would  leave  his  neck  cloth  coiled  round  it  like  a 
turban,  and  none  of  the  "lasses"  dared  to  remove  it.  It  was 
a  matter  of  great  wonder  and  speculation  among  them  that 
the  laird  should  have  such  an  "awsome  fancy  for  an  auld 
girning  skull." 

90.  At  breakfast  that  morning  Scott  gave  an  amusing  ac 
count  of  a  little  Highlander  called  Campbell  of  the  North,  who 
had  a  lawsuit  of  many  years'  standing  with  a  nobleman  in  his 
neighborhood  about  the  boundaries  of  their  estates.     It  was 
the  leading  object  of  the  little  man's  life ;  the  running  theme 
of  all  his  conversations ;  he  used  to  detail  all  the  circumstances 
at  full  length  to  everybody  he  met,  and,  to  aid  him  in  his 
description  of  the  premises,  and  make  his  story  "mair  pre- 
ceese,"  he  had  a  great  map  made  of  his  estate,  a  huge  roll  sev 
eral  feet  long,  which  he  used  to  carry  about  on  his  shoulder. 
Campbell  was  a  long-bodied  but   short  and  bandy-legged 
little  man,  always  clad  in  the  Highland  garb ;  and  as  he  went 
about  with  this  great  roll  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  little  legs 
curving  like  a  pair  of  parentheses  below  his  kilt,  he  was  an 
odd  figure  to  behold.     He  was  like  little  David  shouldering 
the  spear  of  Goliath,  which  was  "like  unto  a  weaver's  beam." 

91.  Whenever   sheep-shearing  was   over,   Campbell   used 
to  set  out  for  Edinburgh  to  attend  to  his  lawsuit.     At  the 
inns  he  paid  double  for  all  his  meals  and  his  nights'  lodging ; 
telling  the  land-lords  to  keep  it  in  mind  until  his  return,  so  that 
he  might  come  back  that  way  at  free  cost ;  for  he  knew,  he  said, 
that  he  would  spend  all  his  money  among  the  lawyers  at  Ed 
inburgh,  so  he  thought  it  best  to  secure  a  retreat  home  again. 

92.  On  one  of  his  visits  he  called  upon  his  lawyer,  but  was 
told  he  was  not  at  home,  but  his  lady  was.     "It  is  just  the 
same  thing,"  said  little  Campbell.     On  being  shown  into  the 
parlor,  he  unrolled  his  map,  stated  his  case  at  full  length,  and, 
having  gone  through  with  his  story,  gave  her  the  customary 
fee.    She  would  have  declined  it,  but  he  insisted  on  her 


ABBOTSFORD  227 

taking  it.  "I  ha'  had  just  as  much  pleasure,"  said  he,  "in 
telling  the  whole  tale  to  you  as  I  should  have  had  in  telling  it 
to  your  husband,  and  I  believe  full  as  much  profit." 

93.  The  last  time  he  saw  Scott,  he  told  him  he  believed 
he  and  the  laird  were  near  a  settlement,  as  they  agreed  to 
within  a  few  miles  of  the  boundary.     If  I  recollect  right, 
Scott  added  that  he  advised  the  little  man  to  consign  his 
cause  and  his  map  to  the  care  of  "Slow  Willie  Mowbray," 
of  tedious  memory:   an  Edinburgh  worthy,  much  employed 
by  the  country  people,  for  he  tired  out  everybody  in  office 
by  repeated  visits  and  drawling,  endless  prolixity,  and  gained 
every  suit  by  dint  of  boring. 

94.  These  little  stories  and  anecdotes,  which  abounded 
in  Scott's  conversation,  rose  naturally  out  of  the  subject,  and 
were  perfectly  unforced ;   though  in  thus  relating  them  in  a 
detached  way,   without  the  observations  or  circumstances 
which  led  to  them,  and  which  have  passed  from  my  recollec 
tion,  they  want   their  setting   to  give  them   proper   relief. 
They  will  serve,  however,  to  show  the  natural  play  of  his 
mind,  in  its   familiar  moods,  and  its  fecundity  in  graphic 
and  characteristic  detail. 

95.  His  daughter  Sophia  and  his  son  Charles  were  those 
of  his  family  who  seemed  most  to  feel  and  understand  his 
humors,  and  to  take  delight  in  his  conversation.     Mrs.  Scott 
did  not  always  pay  the  same  attention,  and  would  now  and 
then  make  a  casual  remark  which  would  operate  a  little  like 
a  damper.     Thus,  one  morning  at  breakfast,  when  Dominie 
Thompson  the  tutor  was  present,  Scott  was  going  on  with 
great  glee  to  relate  an  anecdote  of  the  laird  of  Macnab,  "who, 
poor  fellow ! "  premised  he,  "  is  dead  and  gone  "  —  "  Why,  Mr. 
Scott,"  exclaimed  the  good  lady,  "  Macnab  'a  not  dead,  is  he  ?  " 
— "Faith,  my  dear,"  replied  Scott,  with  humorous  gravity, 
"if  he's  not  dead  they've  done  him  great  injustice,  —  for 
they've  buried  him." 

96.  The   joke   passed   harmless   and   unnoticed   by  Mrs. 
Scott,  but  hit  the  poor  Dominie  just  as  he  had  raised  a  cup  of 
tea  to  his  lips,  causing  a  burst  of  laughter  which  sent  half  of 
the  contents  about  the  table. 


228  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

97.  After  breakfast,  Scott  was  occupied  for  some  time 
correcting  proof-sheets,  which  he  had  received  by  the  mail. 
The  novel  of  "  Rob  Roy,"  as  I  have  already  observed,  was  at 
that  time  in  the  press,  and  I  supposed  them  to  be  the  proof- 
sheets  of  that  work.     The  authorship  of  the  Waverley  novels 
was  still  a  matter  of  conjecture  and  uncertainty;  though  few 
doubted  their  being  principally  written  by  Scott.     One  proof 
to  me  of  his  being  the  author,  was  that  he  never  adverted  to 
them.     A  man  so  fond  of  anything  Scottish,  and  anything 
relating  to  national  history  or  local  legend,  could  not  have 
been  mute  respecting  such  productions,  had  they  been  written 
by  another.     He  was  fond  of  quoting  the  works  of  his  con 
temporaries;    he  was  continually  reciting  scraps  of  border 
songs,  or  relating  anecdotes  of  border  story.     With  respect 
to  his  own  poems  and  their  merits,  however,  he  was  mute, 
and  while  with  him  I  observed  a  scrupulous  silence  on  the 
subject. 

98.  I  may  here  mention  a  singular  fact,  of  which  I  was 
not  aware  at  the  time,  that  Scott  was  very  reserved  with  his 
children  respecting  his  own  writings,  and  was  even  disinclined 
to  their  reading  his  romantic  poems.     I  learnt  this,  some  time 
after,  from  a  passage  in  one  of  his  letters  to  me,  adverting 
to  a  set  of  the  American  miniature  edition  of  his  poems,  which, 
on  my  return  to  England,  I  forwarded  to  one  of  the  young 
ladies.     "  In  my  hurry,"  writes  he,  "  I  have  not  thanked 
you,  in  Sophia's  name,  for  the  kind  attention  which  furnished 
her  with  the  American  volumes.     I  am  not  quite  sure  I  can 
add  my  own,  since  you  have  made  her  acquainted  with  much 
more  of  papa's  folly  than  she  would  otherwise  have  learned ; 
for  I  have  taken  special  care  they  should  never  see  any  of 
these  things  during  their  earlier  years." 

99.  To  return  to  the  thread  of  my  narrative.    When  Scott 
had  got  through  his  brief  literary  occupation,  we  set  out  on  a 
ramble.     The  young  ladies  started  to  accompany  us,  but 
had  not  gone  far  when  they  met  a  poor  old  laborer  and  his 
distressed  family,  and  turned  back  to  take  them  to  the  house 
and  relieve  them. 

100.  On  passing  the  bounds  of  Abbotsford,  we  came  upon 


ABBOTSFORD  229 

a  bleak-looking  farm,  with  a  forlorn  crazy  old  manse,  or  farm 
house,  standing  in  naked  desolation.  This,  however,  Scott 
told  me  was  an  ancient  hereditary  property  called  Lauckend, 
about  as  valuable  as  the  patrimonial  estate  of  Don  Quixote, 
and  which,  in  like  manner,  conferred  an  hereditary  dignity 
upon  its  proprietor,  who  was  a  laird,  and,  though  poor  as  a 
rat,  prided  himself  upon  his  ancient  blood,  and  the  standing 
of  his  house.  He  was  accordingly  called  Lauckend,  according 
to  the  Scottish  custom  of  naming  a  man  after  his  family  estate, 
but  he  was  more  generally  known  through  the  country  round 
by  the  name  of  Lauckie  Long  Legs,  from  the  length  of  his 
limbs.  While  Scott  was  giving  this  account  of  him,  we  saw 
him  at  a  distance  striding  along  one  of  his  fields,  with  his 
plaid  fluttering  about  him,  and  he  seemed  well  to  deserve  his 
appellation,  for  he  looked  all  legs  and  tartan. 

101.  Lauckie  knew  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  his  neigh 
borhood.     Scott  told  me,  that,  on  returning  to  Abbotsford 
from  his  visit  to  France,  immediately  after  the  war,  he  was 
called  on  by  his  neighbors  generally,  to  inquire  after  foreign 
parts.     Among  the  number,  came  Lauckie  Long  Legs  and  an 
old  brother  as  ignorant  as  himself.    They  had  many  in 
quiries  to  make  about  the  French,  whom  they  seemed  to  con 
sider  some  remote  and  semi-barbarous  horde.     "And  what 
like  are  thae  barbarians  in  their  own  country?"  said  Lauckie, 
"  can  they  write  ?  —  can  they  cipher  ?  "    He  was  quite  as 
tonished  to  learn  that  they  were  nearly  as  much  advanced  in 
civilization  as  the  gude  folks  of  Abbotsford. 

102.  After  living  for  a  long  time  in  single  blessedness, 
Lauckie  all  at  once,  and  not  long  before  my  visit  to  the  neigh 
borhood,  took  it  into  his  head  to  get  married.     The  neighbors 
were  all  surprised;   but  the  family  connection,  who  were  as 
proud  as  they  were  poor,  were  grievously  scandalized,  for 
they  thought  the  young  woman  on  whom  he  had  set  his  mind 
quite  beneath  him.     It  was  in  vain,  however,  that  they  re 
monstrated  on  the  misalliance  he  was  about  to  make :  he  was 
not  to  be  swayed  from  his  determination.     Arraying  himself 
in  his  best,  and  saddling  a  gaunt  steed  that   might  have 
rivalled  Rosinante,  and  placing  a  pillion  behind  his  saddle,  he 


230  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

departed  to  wed  and  bring  home  the  humble  lassie  who  was 
to  be  made  mistress  of  the  venerable  hovel  of  Lauckend,  and 
who  lived  in  a  village  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Tweed. 

103.  A  small  event  of  the  kind  makes  a  great  stir  in  a  little 
quiet    country    neighborhood.     The    word    soon    circulated 
through  the  village  of  Melrose,  and  cottages  in  its  vicinity, 
that  Lauckie  Long  Legs  had  gone  over  the  Tweed  to  fetch 
home  his  bride.     All  the  good  folks  assembled  at  the  bridge 
to  await  his  return.     Lauckie,  however,  disappointed  them; 
for  he  crossed  the  river  at  a  distant  ford,  and  conveyed  his 
bride  safe  to  his  mansion,  without  being  perceived. 

104.  Let  me  step  forward  in  the  course  of  events  and  relate 
the  fate  of  poor  Lauckie,  as  it  was  communicated  to  me  a  year 
or  two  afterwards  in  a  letter  by  Scott.     From  the  time  of  his 
marriage  he  had  no  longer  any  peace,  owing  to  the  constant 
intermeddlings  of  his  relations,  who  would  not  permit  him  to 
be  happy  in  his  own  way,  but  endeavored  to  set  him  at  va 
riance  with  his  wife.     Lauckie  refused  to  credit  any  of  their 
stories  to  her  disadvantage;    but  the  incessant  warfare  he 
had  to  wage  in  defence  of  her  good  name,  wore  out  both  flesh 
and  spirit.     His  last  conflict  was  with  his  own  brothers,  in 
front  of  his  paternal  mansion.    A  furious  scolding-match  took 
place  between  them;    Lauckie  made  a  vehement  profession 
of  faith  in  favor  of  her  immaculate  honesty  and  then  fell 
dead  at  the  threshold  of  his  own  door.     His  person,  his 
character,  his  name,  his  story,  and  his  fate,  entitled  him  to  be 
immortalized  in  one  of  Scott's  novels,  and  I  looked  to  recog 
nize  him  in  some  of  the  succeeding  works  from  his  pen,  but 
I  looked  in  vain. 

105.  After  passing  by  the  domains  of  honest  Lauckie,  Scott 
pointed  out,  at  a  distance,  the  Eildon  stone.     There  in  ancient 
days  stood  the  Eildon  tree,  beneath  which  Thomas  the  Rhy 
mer,  according  to  popular  tradition,  dealt  forth  his  prophecies, 
some  of  which  still  exist  in  antiquated  ballads. 

106.  Here  we  turned  up  a  little  glen  with  a  small  burn  or 
brook  whimpering  and  dashing  along  it,  making  an  occasional 
waterfall,  and  overhung  in  some  places  with  mountain-ash 


ABBOTSFORD  231 

and  weeping-birch.  We  are  now,  said  Scott,  treading  classic, 
or  rather  fairy  ground.  This  is  the  haunted  glen  of  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  where  he  met  with  the  queen  of  fairy  land ;  and 
this  the  bogle  burn,  or  goblin  brook,  along  which  she  rode  on 
her  dapple-gray  palfrey,  with  silver  bells  ringing  at  the  bridle. 

107.  "Here,  "  said  he,   pausing,    "is   Huntley  Bank,   on 
which  Thomas  the  Rhymer  lay  musing  and  sleeping  when  he 
saw,  or  dreamt  he  saw,  the  queen  of  Elfland :  — 

"True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank; 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  e'e; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

"Her  skirt  was  o'  the  grass  green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne; 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 
Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine." 

Here  Scott  repeated  several  of  the  stanzas  and  recounted  the 
circumstance  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer's  interview  with  the 
fairy,  and  his  being  transported  by  her  to  fairy  land  — 

"And  til  seven  years  were  gone  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. ' ' 

It  is  a  fine  old  story,  said  he,  and  might  be  wrought  up  into 
a  capital  tale. 

108.  Scott  continued  on,  leading  the  way  as  usual,  and 
limping  up  the  wizard  glen,  talking  as  he  went,  but  as  his  back 
was  toward  me,  I  could  only  hear  the  deep  growling  tones  of 
his  voice,  like  the  low  breathing  of  an  organ,  without  dis 
tinguishing  the  words,  until  pausing,  and  turning  his  face 
towards  me,  I  found  he  was  reciting  some  scrap  of  border 
minstrelsy  about  Thomas  the  Rhymer.     This  was  continually 
the  case  in  my  ramblings  with  him  about  this  storied  neigh 
borhood.     His  mind  was  fraught  with  the  traditionary  fictions 
connected  with  every  object  around  him,  and  he  would  breathe 
it  forth  as  he  went,  apparently  as  much  for  his  own  gratifica 
tion  as  for  that  of  his  companion. 

"Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song." 


232  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

His  voice  was  deep  and  sonorous,  he  spoke  with  a  Scottish 
accent,  and  with  somewhat  of  the  Northumbrian  "burr," 
which,  to  my  mind,  gave  a  doric  strength  and  simplicity  to  his 
elocution.  His  recitation  of  poetry  was,  at  times,  magnifi 
cent. 

109.  I  think  it  was  in  the  course  of  this  ramble  that  my 
friend  Hamlet,  the  black  greyhound,  got  into  a  sad  scrape. 
The  dogs  were  beating  about  the  glens  and  fields  as  usual, 
and  had  been  for  some  time  out  of  sight,  when  we  heard  a 
barking  at  some  distance  to  the  left.     Shortly  after  we  saw 
some  sheep  scampering  on  the  hills,  with  the  dogs  after  them. 
Scott  applied  to  his  lips  the  ivory  whistle,  always  hanging  at 
his  button-hole,  and  soon  called  in  the  culprits,  excepting 
Hamlet.     Hastening  up  a  bank  which  commanded  a  view 
along  a  fold  or  hollow  of  the  hills,  we  beheld  the  sable  prince 
of  Denmark  standing  by  the  bleeding  body  of  a  sheep.    The 
carcass  was  still  warm,  the  throat  bore  marks  of  the  fatal 
grip,  and  Hamlet's  muzzle  was  stained  with  blood.     Never 
was  culprit  more  completely  caught  in  ftagrante  delictu.     I 
supposed  the  doom  of  poor  Hamlet  to  be  sealed,  for  no  higher 
offence  can  be  committed  by  a  dog  in  a  country  abounding 
with  sheep-walks.     Scott,  however,  had  a  greater  value  for 
his  dogs  than  for  his  sheep.     They  were  his  companions  and 
friends.     Hamlet,  too,  though  an  irregular,  impertinent  kind 
of  youngster,  was  evidently  a  favorite.     He  would  not  for 
some  time  believe  it  could  be  he  who  had  killed  the  sheep.     It 
must  have  been  some  cur  of  the  neighborhood,  that  had  made 
off  on  our  approach,  and  left  poor  Hamlet  in  the  lurch. 
Proofs,  however,  were  too  strong,  and  Hamlet  was  generally 
condemned.     "Well,  well,"  said  Scott,  "it's  partly  my  own 
fault.     I  have  given  up  coursing  for  some  time  past,  and  the 
poor  dog  has  had  no  chance  after  game  to  take  the  fire  edge 
off  of  him.     If  he  was  put  after  a  hare  occasionally,  he  never 
would  meddle  with  sheep." 

110.  I   understood,  afterwards,  that    Scott   actually   got 
a  pony,  and  went  out  now  and  then  coursing  with  Hamlet, 
who,  in    consequence,   showed    no   further   inclination    for 
mutton. 


ABBOTSFORD  233 

111.  A  further  stroll  among  the  hills  brought  us  to  what 
Scott  pronounced  the  remains  of  a  Roman  camp,  and  as  we  sat 
upon  a  hillock  which  had  once  formed  a  part  of  the  ramparts, 
he  pointed  out  the  traces  of  the  lines  and  bulwarks,  and  the 
praetorium,  and  showed  a  knowledge  of  castrametation  that 
would  not  have  disgraced  the  antiquarian  Oldbuck  himself. 
Indeed,  various  circumstances  that  I  observed  about  Scott 
during  my  visit,  concurred  to  persuade  me  that  many  of  the 
antiquarian  humors  of  Monkbarns  were  taken  from  his  own 
richly  compounded  character,  and  that  some  of  the  scenes  and 
personages  of  that  admirable  novel  were  furnished  by  his 
immediate  neighborhood. 

112.  He  gave  me  several  anecdotes  of  a  noted  pauper 
named  Andrew  Gemmells,  or  Gammel,  as  it  was  pronounced, 
who  had  once  flourished  on  the  banks  of  Galla  Water,  im 
mediately  opposite  Abbotsford,  and  whom  he  had  seen  and 
talked  and  joked  with  when  a  boy;   and  I  instantly  recog 
nized  the  likeness  of  that  mirror  of  philosophic  vagabonds 
and  Nestor  of  beggars,  Edie  Ochiltree.     I  was  on  the  point 
of   pronouncing    the    name    and   recognizing    the   portrait, 
when    I   recollected  the  incognito  observed  by  Scott  with 
respect  to  his  novels,  and  checked  myself ;    but  it  was  one 
among    many  things    that  tended  to   convince   me   of   his 
authorship. 

1 13.  His  picture  of  Andrew  Gemmells  exactly  accorded  with 
that  of  Edie  as  to  his  height,  carriage,  and  soldier-like  air, 
as  well  as  his  arch  and  sarcastic  humor.     His  home,  if  home 
he  had,  was  at  Gallashiels;  but  he  went  "daundering"  about 
the  country,  along  the  green  shaws  and  beside  the  burns,  and 
was  a  kind  of  walking  chronicle  throughout  the  valleys  of  the 
Tweed,  the  Ettrick,  and  the  Yarrow;    carrying  the  gossip 
from  house  to  house,  commenting  on  the  inhabitants  and 
their  concerns,  and  never  hesitating  to  give  them  a  dry  rub 
as  to  any  of  their  faults  or  follies. 

114.  A  shrewd  beggar  like  Andrew  Gemmells,  Scott  added, 
who  could  sing  the  old  Scotch  airs,  tell  stories  and  tradi 
tions,  and  gossip  away  the  long  winter  evenings,  was  by  no 
means  an  unwelcome  visitor  at  a  lonely  manse  or  cottage. 


234  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

The  children  would  run  to  welcome  him,  and  place  his  stool 
in  a  warm  corner  of  the  ingle  nook,  and  the  old  folks  would 
receive  him  as  a  privileged  guest. 

115.  As  to  Andrew,  he  looked  upon  them  all  as  a  parson 
does  upon  his  parishioners,  and  considered  the  alms  he  re 
ceived  as  much  his  due  as  the  other  does  his  tithes.     I  rather 
think,  added  Scott,  Andrew  considered  himself  more  of  a 
gentleman  than  those  who  toiled  for  a  living,  and  that  he 
secretly  looked  down  upon  the  painstaking  peasants  that  fed 
and  sheltered  him. 

116.  He  had  derived  his  aristocratical  notions  in  some 
degree   from   being  admitted   occasionally   to   a  precarious 
sociability  with  some  of  the  small  country  gentry,  who  were 
sometimes  in  want  of  company  to  help  while  away  the  time. 
With  these  Andrew  would  now  and  then  play  at  cards  and 
dice,  and  he  never  lacked  "  siller  in  pouch  "  to  stake  on  a  game, 
which  he. did  with  the  perfect  air  of  a  man  to  whom  money 
was  a  matter  of  little  moment;    and  no  one  could  lose  his 
money  with  more  gentlemanlike  coolness. 

117.  Among  those  who  occasionally  admitted  him  to  this 
familiarity,  was  old  John  Scott  of  Galla,  a  man  of  family, 
who  inhabited  his  paternal  mansion  of  Torwoodlee.     Some 
distinction  of  rank,  however,  was  still  kept  up.     The  laird 
sat  on  the  inside  of  the  window  and  the  beggar  on  the  outside, 
and  they  played  cards  on  the  sill. 

118.  Andrew  now  and  then  told  the  laird  a  piece  of  his 
mind  very  freely;   especially  on  one  occasion,  when  he  had 
sold  some  of  his  paternal  lands  to  build  himself  a  larger  house 
with  the  proceeds.     The  speech  of  honest  Andrew  smacks  of 
the  shrewdness  of  Edie  Ochiltree. 

119.  "It's  a'  varra  weel  —  it's  a'  varra  weel,  Torwood 
lee,"  said  he ;  "but  who  would  ha'  thought  that  your  father's 
son   would   ha'  sold   two   gude   estates   to   build   a    shaw's 
(cuckoo's)  nest  on  the  side  of  a  hill?" 

120.  That  day  there  was  an  arrival  at  Abbotsford  of  two 
English  tourists:    one   a  gentleman  of  fortune   and  landed 
estate,  the  other  a  young  clergyman  whom  he  appeared  to 


ABBOTSFORD  235 

have  under  his  patronage,  and  to  have  brought  with  him 
as  a  travelling  companion. 

121.  The  patron  was  one  of  those  well-bred,   common 
place  gentlemen  with  which  England  is  overrun.     He  had 
great  deference  for  Scott,  and  endeavored  to  acquit  himself 
learnedly  in  his  company,  aiming  continually  at  abstract  dis 
quisitions,  for  which  Scott  had  little  relish.     The  conversa 
tion  of  the  latter,  as  usual,  was  studded  with  anecdotes  and 
stories,  some  of  them  of  great  pith  and  humor :  the  well-bred 
gentleman  was  either  too  dull  to  feel  their  point,  or  too  de 
corous  to  indulge  in  hearty  merriment ;  the  honest  parson,  on 
the  contrary,  who  was  not  too  refined  to  be  happy,  laughed 
loud  and  long  at  every  joke,  and  enjoyed  them  with  the  zest 
of  a  man  who  has  more  merriment  in  his  heart  than  coin  in 
his  pocket. 

122.  After  they  were  gone,  some  comments  -were  made 
upon  their  different  deportments.     Scott  spoke  very  respect 
fully  of  the  good  breeding  and  measured  manners  of  the  man 
of  wealth,  but  with  a  kindlier  feeling  of  the  honest  parson,  and 
the  homely  but  hearty  enjoyment  with  which  he  relished  every 
pleasantry.     "I  doubt,"  said  he,  "whether  the  parson's  lot 
in  life  is  not  the  best ;  if  he  cannot  command  as  many  of  the 
good  things  of  this  world  by  his  own  purse  as  his  patron  can, 
he  beats  him  all  hollow  in  his  enjoyment  of  them  when  set 
before  him  by  others.     Upon  the  whole,"  added  he,  "I  rather 
think  I  prefer  the  honest  parson's  good  humor  to  his  patron's 
good  breeding ;  I  have  a  great  regard  for  a  hearty  laughter. " 

123.  He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  great  influx  of  English 
travellers,  which  of  late  years  had  inundated  Scotland ;   and 
doubted  whether  they  had   not   injured  the  old-fashioned 
Scottish  character.     "Formerly,  they  came  here  occasionally 
as  sportsmen,"  said  he,  "to  shoot  moor-game,  without  any 
idea  of  looking  at  scenery ;  and  they  moved  about  the  country 
in  hardy  simple  style,  coping  with  the  country  people  in  their 
own  way;   but  now  they  come  rolling  about  in  their  equi 
pages,  to  see  ruins,  and  spend  money;   and  their  lavish  ex 
travagance  has  played  the  vengeance  with  the  common  people. 
It  has  made  them  rapacious  in  their  dealings  with  strangers. 


236  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

greedy  after  money,  and  extortionate  in  their  demands  for 
the  most  trivial  services.  Formerly/'  continued  he,  "the 
poorer  classes  of  our  people  were  comparatively  disinterested ; 
they  offered  their  services  gratuitously,  in  promoting  the 
amusement,  or  aiding  the  curiosity  of  strangers,  and  were 
gratified  by  the  smallest  compensation ;  but  now  they  make 
a  trade  of  showing  rocks  and  ruins,  and  are  as  greedy  as 
Italian  cicerones.  They  look  upon  the  English  as  so  many 
walking  money-bags;  the  more  they  are  shaken  and  poked, 
the  more  they  will  leave  behind  them." 

124.  I  told  him  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  answer  for  on 
that  head,  since  it  was  the  romantic  associations  he  had 
thrown  by  his  writings  over  so  many  out-of-the-way  places  in 
Scotland,  that  had  brought  in  the  influx  of  curious  travellers. 

125.  Scott  laughed,  and  said  he  believed  I  might  be  in 
some  measure  in  the  right,  as  he  recollected  a  circumstance  in 
point.     Being  one  time  at  Glenross,  an  old  woman  who  kept 
a  small  inn,  which  had  but  little  custom,  was  uncommonly 
officious  in  her  attendance  upon  him,  and  absolutely  incom 
moded  him  with  her  civilities.     The  secret  at  length  came  out. 
As  he  was  about  to  depart,  she  addressed  him  with  many 
curtsies,  and  said  she  understood  he  was  the  gentleman  that 
had  written  a  bonnie  book  about  Loch  Katrine.     She  begged 
him  to  write  a  little  about  their  lake  also,  for  she  understood 
his  book  had  done  the  inn  at  Loch  Katrine  a  muckle  deal  of 
good. 

126.  On  the  following  day  I  made  an  excursion  with  Scott 
and  the  young  ladies  to  Dryburgh  Abbey.     We  went  in  an 
open  carriage,  drawn  by  two  sleek  old  black  horses,  for  which 
Scott  seemed  to  have  an  affection,  as  he  had  for  every  dumb 
animal  that  belonged  to  him.     Our  road  lay  through  a  variety 
of  scenes,  rich  in  poetical  and  historical  associations,  about 
most  of  which  Scott  had  something  to  relate.     In  one  part  of 
the  drive  he  pointed  to  an  old  border  keep,  or  fortress,  on  the 
summit  of  a  naked  hill,  several  miles  off,  which  he  called 
Smallholm  Tower,  and  the  rocky  knoll  on  which  it  stood,  the 
"Sandy  Knowe  crags."    It  was  a  place,  he  said,  peculiarly 
dear  to  him,  from  the  recollections  of  childhood.     His  grand- 


ABBOTSFORD  237 

father  had  lived  there  in  the  old  Smallholm  Grange,  or  farm 
house  ;  and  he  had  been  sent  there,  when  but  two  years  old,  on 
account  of  his  lameness,  that  he  might  have  the  benefit  of  the 
pure  air  of  the  hills,  and  be  under  the  care  of  his  grandmother 
and  aunts. 

127.  In  the  introduction  of  one  of  the  cantos  of  "Mar- 
mion/'  he  has  depicted  his  grandfather,  and  the  fireside  of  the 
farm-house;  and  has  given  an  amusing  picture  of  himself 
in  his  boyish  years. 


'Still  with  vain  fondness  could  I  trace 
Anew  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brightened  at  our  evening  fire  ; 
From  the  thatched  mansion's  gray-haired  sire, 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood; 
Whose  eye  in  age,  quick,  clear  and  keen, 
Showed  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought ; 
To  him  the  venerable  priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint ; 
Alas  !    whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke ; 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-willed  imp,  a  grandame's  child; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  carest." 


128.  It  was,  he  said,  during  his  residence  at  Smallholm 
crags,  that  he  first  imbibed  his  passion  for  legendary  tales, 
border  traditions,  and  old  national  songs  and  ballads.     His 
grandmother  and  aunts  were  well  versed  in  that  kind  of  lore 
so  current  in  Scottish  country  life.     They  used  to  recount 
them  in  long,  gloomy  winter  days,  and  about  the  ingle  nook 
at  night,  in    conclave  with  their  gossip  visitors;    and  little 
Walter  would  sit  and  listen  with  greedy  ear;    thus  taking 
into  his  infant  mind  the  seeds  of  many  a  splendid  fiction. 

129.  There  was  an  old  shepherd,  he  said,  in  the  service 
of  the  family,  who  used  to  sit  under  the  sunny  wall,  and  tell 
marvellous  stories,  and  recite  old-time  ballads,  as  he  knitted 


238 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


stockings.  Scott  used  to  be  wheeled  out  in  his  chair,  in  fine 
weather,  and  would  sit  beside  the  old  man,  and  listen  to  him 
for  hours. 

130.  The  situation  of  Sandy  Knowe  was  favorable  both 
for  story-teller  and  listener.  It  commanded  a  wide  view  over 
all  the  border  country,  with  its  feudal  towers,  its  haunted 
glens,  and  wizard  streams.  As  the  old  shepherd  told  his  tales, 


DRYBUBGH  ABBEY 


he  could  point  out  the  very  scene  of  action.  Thus,  before 
Scott  could  walk,  he  was  made  familiar  with  the  scenes  of  his 
future  stories ;  they  were  all  seen  as  through  a  magic  medium, 
and  took  that  tinge  of  romance  which  they  ever  after  re 
tained  in  his  imagination.  From  the  height  of  Sandy  Knowe 
he  may  be  said  to  have  had  the  first  look-out  upon  the  prom 
ised  land  of  his  future  glory. 

131.  On  referring  to  Scott's  works,  I  find  many  of  the  cir 
cumstances  related  in  this  conversation  about  the  old  tower, 
and  the  boyish  scenes  connected  with  it,  recorded  in  the  intro 
duction  to  "Marmion,"  already  cited.  This  was  frequently 
the  case  with  Scott ;  incidents  and  feelings  that  had  appeared 
in  his  writings,  were  apt  to  be  mingled  up  in  his  conversation, 


ABBOTSFOED  239 

for  they  had  been  taken  from  what  he  had  witnessed  and  felt 
in  real  life,  and  were  connected  with  those  scenes  among 
which  he  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  his  being.  I  make  no 
scruple  at  quoting  the  passage  relative  to  the  tower,  though 
it  repeats  much  of  the  foregone  imagery,,  and  with  vastly 
superior  effect. 

"Thus,  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charmed  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time ; 
And  feelings  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charmed  my  fancy's  wakening  hour, 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along 
To  claim  perchance  heroic  song ; 
Though  sighed  no  groves  in  summer  gale 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claimed  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green  ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew, 
And  honeysuckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruined  wall. 
I  deemed  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  his  round  surveyed ; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shattered  tower 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power ; 
And  marvelled  as  the  aged  hind 
With  some  strange  tale  bewitched  my  mind 
Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 
Down  from  that  strength  had  spurred  their  horse 
Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 
Far  in  the  distant  Cheviot's  blue, 
And,  home  returning,  filled  the  hall 
With  revel,  wassail-rout,  and  brawl  — • 
Methought  that  still  with  tramp  and  clang 
The  gateway's  broken  arches  rang; 
Methought  grim  features,  seamed  with  scars 
Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars. 
And  ever  by  the  winter  hearth, 
Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 
Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 
Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms; 


240  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Of  patriot  battles  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When  pouring  from  the  Highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretched  at  length  upon  the  floor, 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  displayed ; 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 

And  still  the  scattered  Southron  fled  before." 

132.  Scott  eyed  the  distant  height  of  Sandy  Knowe  with 
an  earnest  gaze  as  we  rode  along,  and  said  he  had  often 
thought  of  buying  the  place,  repairing  the  old  tower,  and 
making  it  his  residence.     He  has  in  some  measure,  however, 
paid  off  his  early  debt  of  gratitude,  in  clothing  it  with  poetic 
and  romantic  associations,  by  his  tale  of  "The  Eve  of  St. 
John."     It  is  to  be  hoped  that  those  who  actually  possess 
so  interesting  a  monument  of  Scott's  early  days,  will  preserve 
it  from  further  dilapidation. 

133.  Not  far  from  Sandy  Knowe,  Scott  pointed  out  'another 
old  border  hold,  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  which  had 
been  a  kind  of  enchanted  castle  to  him  in  his  boyhood.     It 
was  the  tower  of  Bemerside,  the  baronial  residence  of  the 
Haigs  or  De  Hagas,  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the  border. 
"There  had   seemed  to  him,"   he  said,  "almost  a  wizard 
spell  hanging  over  it,  in  consequence  of  a  prophecy  of  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  in  which,  in  his  young  days,  he  most  potently 
believed:" 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

134.  Scott  added  some  particulars  which  showed  that,  in 
the  present  instance,  the  venerable  Thomas  had  not  proved 
a  false  prophet,  for  it  was  a  noted  fact,  that,  amid  all  the 
changes  and  chances  of  the  border  —  through  all  the  feuds, 
and  forays,  and  sackings,  and  burnings,  which  had  reduced 
most  of  the  castles  to  mirs,  and  the  proud  families  that  once 
possessed  them  to  poverty, .the  tower  of  Bemerside  still 


ABBOTSFORD  241 

remained  unscathed,  and  was  still  the   strong-hold  of  the 
ancient  family  of  Haig. 

135.  Prophecies,  however,  often  insure  their  own  fulfil 
ment.     It  is  very  probable  that  the  prediction  of  Thomas  the 
Rhymer  has  linked  the  Haigs  to  their  tower,  as  their  rock 
of  safety,  and  has  induced  them  to  cling  to  it,  almost  super- 
stitiously,  through  hardships  and  inconveniences  that  would 
otherwise  have  caused  its  abandonment. 

136.  I  afterwards  saw,  at  Dryburgh  Abbey,  the  bury  ing- 
place  of  this  predestinated  and  tenacious  family,  the  inscription 
of  which  showed  the  value  they  set  upon  their  antiquity :  — 

"Locu  Sepulturae, 
Antiquessimse  Familise 

De  Haga 
De  Bemerside." 

137.  In  reverting  to  the  days  of  his  childhood,  Scott  ob 
served  that  the  lameness  which  had  disabled  him  in  infancy 
gradually  decreased ;  he  soon  acquired  strength  in  his  limbs, 
and  though  he  always  limped,  he  became,  even  in  boyhood, 
a  great  walker.     He  used  frequently  to  stroll  from  home  and 
wander  about  the   country  for  days  together,   picking  up 
all  kinds  of  local  gossip,  and  observing  popular  scenes  and 
characters.     His  father  used  to  be  vexed  with  him  for  this 
wandering  propensity,  and,  shaking  his  head,  would  say  he 
fancied  the  boy  would  make  nothing  but  a  peddler.     As  he 
grew  older,  he  became  a  keen  sportsman,  and  passed  much 
of  his  time  hunting  and  shooting.     His  field-sports  led  him 
into  the  most  wild  and  unfrequented  parts  of  the  country,  and 
in  this  way  he  picked  up  much  of  that  local  knowledge  which 
he  has  since  evinced  in  his  writings. 

138.  His  first  visit  to  Loch  Katrine,  he  said,  was  in  his  boy 
ish  days,  on  a  shooting  excursion.     The  island,  which  he  has 
made  the  romantic  residence  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  was  then 
garrisoned  by  an  old  man  and  his  wife.     Their  house  was 
vacant :  they  had  put  the  key  under  the  door,  and  were  absent 
fishing.     It  was  at  that  time  a  peaceful  residence,  but  became 
afterwards  a  resort  of  smugglers,  until  they  were  ferreted  out. 


242  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

139.  In  after-years,  when  Scott  began  to  turn  this  local 
knowledge  to  literary  account,  he  revisited  many  of  those 
scenes  of  his  early  ramblings,  and  endeavored  to  secure  the 
fugitive  remains  of  the  traditions  and  songs  that  had  charmed 
his  boyhood.     When  collecting  materials  for  his  "  Border  Min 
strelsy/'  he  used,  he  said,  to  go  from  cottage  to  cottage,  and 
make  the  old  wives  repeat  all  they  knew,  if  but  two  lines ;  and 
by  putting  these  scraps  together,  he  retrieved  many  a  fine 
characteristic  old  ballad  or  tradition  from  oblivion. 

140.  I  regret  to  say  that  I  can  recollect  scarce  anything  of 
our  visit  to  Dryburgh  Abbey.    It  is  on  the  estate  of  the  Earl 
of  Buchan.    The  religious  edifice  is  a  mere  ruin,  rich  in  Gothic 
antiquities,  but  especially  interesting  to  Scott,  from  containing 
the  family  vault,  and  the  tombs  and  monuments  of  his  ances 
tors.     He  appeared  to  feel  much  chagrin  at  their  being  in  the 
possession,  and  subject  to  the  intermeddlings  of  the  Earl, 
who  was  represented  as  a  nobleman  of  an  eccentric  character. 
The  latter,  however,  set  great  value  on  these  sepulchral  relics, 
and  had  expressed  a  lively  anticipation  of  one  day  or  other 
having  the  honor  of  burying  Scott,  and  adding  his  monu 
ment  to  the  collection,  which  he  intended  should  be  worthy 
of  the  "mighty  minstrel  of  the  north  "  —  a  prospective  com 
pliment  which  was  by  no  means  relished  by  the  object  of  it. 

141.  One  of  my  pleasant  rambles  with  Scott,  about  the 
neighborhood  of  Abbotsford,  was  taken  in  company  with  Mr. 
William  Laidlaw,  the  steward  of  his  estate.    This  was  a 
gentleman  for  whom  Scott  entertained  a  particular  value. 
He  had  been  born  to  a  competency,  had  been  well  educated, 
his  mind  was  richly  stored  with  varied  information,  and  he 
was  a  man  of  sterling  moral  worth.     Having  been  reduced  by 
misfortune,  Scott  had  got  him  to  take  charge  of  his  estate. 
He  lived  at  a  small  farm  on  the  hill-side  above  Abbotsford, 
and  was  treated  by  Scott  as  a  cherished  and  confidential 
friend,  rather  than  a  dependant. 

142.  As  the  day  was  showery,  Scott  was  attended  by  one 
of  his  retainers,  named  Tommie  Purdie,  who  carried  his  plaid, 
and  who  deserves  especial  mention.     Sophia  Scott  used  to  call 


ABBOTSFORD  243 

him  her  father's  grand  vizier,  and  she  gave  a  playful  account 
one  evening,  as  she  was  hanging  on  her  father's  arm,  of  the 
consultations  which  he  and  Tommie  used  to  have  about 
matters  relative  to  farming.  Purdie  was  tenacious  of  his 
opinions,  and  he  and  Scott  would  have  long  disputes  in  front 
of  the  house,  as  to  something  that  was  to  be  done  on  the 
estate,  until  the  latter,  fairly  tired  out,  would  abandon  the 
ground  and  the  argument,  exclaiming,  "Well,  well,  Tom, 
have  it  your  own  way." 

143.  After  a  time,  however,  Purdie  would  present  himself 
at  the  door  of  the  parlor,  and  observe,  "I  ha'  been  thinking 
over  the  matter,  and,  upon  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  take  your 
honor's  advice." 

144.  Scott  laughed  heartily  when  this  anecdote  was  told 
of  him.     "  It  was  with  him  and  Tom,"  he  said,  "  as  it  was  with 
an  old  laird  and  a  pet  servant,  whom  he  had  indulged  until  he 
was  positive  beyond  all  endurance.     'This  won't  do!'  cried 
the  old  laird,  in  a  passion, '  we  can't  live  together  any  longer  — 
we  must  part.'     '  An'  where  the  deil  does  your  honor  mean  to 
go?'  replied  the  other." 

145.  I  would,  moreover,  observe  of  Tom  Purdie,  that  he 
was  a  firm  believer  in  ghosts,  and  warlocks,  and  all  kinds  of  old 
wives'  fable.     He  was  a  religious  man,  too,  mingling  a  little 
degree  of  Scottish  pride  in  his  devotion ;  for  though  his  salary 
was  but  twenty  pounds  a  year,  he  had  managed  to  afford  seven 
pounds  for  a  family  Bible.     It  is  true,  he  had  one  hundred 
pounds  clear  of  the  world,  and  was  looked  up  to  by  his  com 
rades  as  a  man  of  property. 

146.  In  the  course  of  our  morning's  walk  we  stopped  at 
a  small  house  belonging  to  one  of  the  laborers  on  the  estate. 
The  object  of  Scott's  visit  was  to  inspect  a  relic  which  had  been 
digged  up  in  the  Roman  camp,  and  which,  if  I  recollect  right, 
he  pronounced  to  have  been  a  tongs.     It  was  produced  by 
the  cottager's  wife,  a  ruddy,  healthy-looking  dame,  whom 
Scott  addressed  by  the  name  of  Ailie.     As  he  stood  regarding 
the  relic,  turning  it  round  and  round,  and  making  comments 
upon  it,  half  grave,  half  comic,  with  the  cottage  group  around 
him,  all  joining  occasionally  in  the  colloquy,  the  inimitable 


244  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

character  of  Monkbarns  was  again  brought  to  mind,  and  I 
seemed  to  see  before  me  that  prince  of  antiquarians  and 
humorists  holding  forth  to  his  unlearned  and  unbelieving 
neighbors. 

147.  Whenever  Scott  touched,  in  this  way,  upon   local 
antiquities,  and  in  all  his  familiar  conversations  about  local 
traditions  and  superstitions,  there  was  always  a  sly  and  quiet 
humor  running  at  the  bottom  of  his  discourse,  and  playing 
about  his  countenance,  as  if  he  sported  with  the  subject.     It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  he  distrusted  his  own  enthusiasm,  and  was 
disposed  to  droll  upon  his  own  humors  and  peculiarities,  yet, 
at  the  same  time,  a  poetic  gleam  in  his  eye  would  show  that 
he  really  took  a  strong  relish  and  interest  in  them.     "It 
was  a  pity/'  he  said,  "that  antiquarians  were  generally  so  dry, 
for  the  subjects  they  handled  were  rich  in  historical  and  poetic 
recollections,  in  picturesque  details,  in  quaint  and  heroic  char 
acteristics,  and  in  all  kinds  of  curious  and  obsolete  cere 
monials.      They  are  always  groping  among  the  rarest  ma 
terials  for  poetry,  but  they  have  no  idea  of  turning  them  to 
poetic  use.     Now  every  fragment  from  old  times  has,  in  some 
degree,  its  story  with  it,  or  gives  an  inkling  of  something  char 
acteristic  of  the  circumstances  and  manners  of  its  day,  and  so 
sets  the  imagination  at  work." 

148.  For  my  own  part,  I  never  met  with  antiquarian  so 
delightful,  either  in  his  writings  or  his  conversation ;  and  the 
quiet  subacid  humor  that  was  prone  to  mingle  in  his  disqui 
sitions,  gave  them,  to  me,  a  peculiar  and  exquisite  flavor. 
But  he  seemed,  in  fact,  to  undervalue  everything  that  con 
cerned  himself.    The  play  of  his  genius  was  so  easy  that  he 
was  unconscious  of  its  mighty  power,  and  made  light  of  those 
sports  of  intellect  that  shamed  the  efforts  and  labors  of  other 
minds. 

149.  Our  ramble  this  morning  took  us  again  up  the  Rhy 
mer's  Glen,  and  by  Huntley  Bank,  and  Huntley  Wood,  and 
the    silver    waterfall    overhung    with    weeping-birches    and 
mountain-ashes,  those  delicate  and  beautiful  trees  which  grace 
the  green  shaws  and  burnsides  of  Scotland.     The  heather,  too, 
that  closely-woven  robe  of  Scottish  landscape  which  covers 


ABBOTSFORD  245 

the  nakedness  of  its  hills  and  mountains,  tinted  the  neighbor 
hood  with  soft  and  rich  colors.  As  we  ascended  the  glen,  the 
prospects  opened  upon  us ;  Melrose,  with  its  towers  and  pin 
nacles,  lay  below ;  beyond  was  the  Eildon  hills,  the  Cowden 
Knowes,  the  Tweed,  the  Galla  Water,  and  all  the  storied 
vicinity;  the  whole  landscape  varied  by  gleams  of  sunshine 
and  driving  showers. 

150.  Scott,  as  usual,  took  the  lead,  limping  along  with  great 
activity,  and  in  joyous  mood,  giving  scraps  of  border  rhymes 
and  border  stories;   two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  our 
walk  there  were  drizzling  showers,  which  I  supposed  would 
put  an  end  to  our  ramble,  but  my  companions  trudged  on  as 
unconcernedly  as  if  it  had  been  fine  weather. 

151.  At  length,  I  asked  whether  we  had  not  better  seek 
some  shelter.     "True,"  said  Scott,  "I  did  not  recollect  that 
you  were  not  accustomed  to  our  Scottish  mists.     This  is  a 
lachrymose  climate,  evermore  showering.    We,  however,  are 
children  of  the  mist,  and  must  not  mind  a  little  whimpering 
of  the  clouds  any  more  than  a  man  must  mind  the  weeping 
of  an  hysterical  wife.     As  you  are  not  accustomed  to  be  wet 
through,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  a  morning's  walk,  we  will 
bide  a  bit  under  the  lee  of  this  bank  until  the  shower  is  over." 
Taking  his  seat  under  shelter  of  a  thicket,  he  called  to  his  man 
George  for  his  tartan ;  then  turning  to  me,  "Come,"  said  he, 
"  come  under  my  plaidy,  as  the  old  song  goes ; "  so,  making  me 
nestle  down  beside  him,  he  wrapped  a  part  of  the  plaid  round 
me,  and  took  me,  as  he  said,  under  his  wing. 

152.  While  we  were  thus  nestled  together,  he  pointed  to  a 
hole  in  the  opposite  bank  of  the  glen.     That,  he  said,  was  the 
hole  of  an  old  gray  badger,  who  was,  doubtless,  snugly  housed 
in  this  bad  weather.     Sometimes  he  saw  him  at  the  entrance  of 
his  hole,  like  a  hermit  at  the  door  of  his  cell,  telling  his  beads, 
or  reading  a  homily.     He  had  a  great  respect  for  the  vener 
able  anchorite,  and  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  disturbed. 
He  was  a  kind  of  successor  to  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  per 
haps  might  be  Thomas  himself  returned  from  fairy  land,  but 
still  under  fairy  spell. 

153.  Some  accident  turned  the  conversation  upon  Hogg, 


246  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

the  poet,  in  which  Laidlaw,  who  was  seated  beside  us,  took  a 
part.  Hogg  had  once  been  a  shepherd  in  the  service  of  his 
father,  and  Laidlaw  gave  many  interesting  anecdotes  of  him, 
of  which  I  now  retain  no  recollection.  They  used  to  tend  the 
sheep  together  when  Laidlaw  was  a  boy,  and  Hogg  would  re 
cite  the  first  struggling  conceptions  of  his  muse.  At  night, 
when  Laidlaw  was  quartered  comfortably  in  bed,  in  the  farm 
house,  poor  Hogg  would  take  to  the  shepherd's  hut,  in  the 
field  on  the  hill-side,  and  there  lie  awake  for  hours  together, 
and  look  at  the  stars  and  make  poetry,  which  he  would  repeat 
the  next  day  to  his  companion. 

154.  Scott  spoke  in  warm  terms  of  Hogg,  and  repeated 
passages  from  his  beautiful  poem  of  Kelmeny,  to  which  he 
gave  great  and  well-merited  praise.     He  gave,  also,  some 
amusing  anecdotes  of  Hogg  and  his  publisher,  Blackwood, 
who  was  at   that   time   just   rising   into   the  bibliographical 
importance  which  he  has  since  enjoyed. 

155.  Hogg,  in  one  of  his  poems,  I  believe  the  "  Pilgrims  of 
the  Sun,"  had  dabbled  a  little  in  metaphysics,  and,  like  his 
heroes,  had  got  into  the  clouds.     Blackwood,  who  began  to 
affect  criticism,  argued  stoutly  with  him  as  to  the  necessity 
of  omitting  or  elucidating  some  obscure  passage.      Hogg  was 
immovable. 

156.  "But,  man,"  said  Blackwood,   "I  dinna  ken  what 
ye  mean  in  this  passage."  —  "  Hout  tout,  man,"  replied  Hogg, 
impatiently,   "I  dinna  ken  always  what  I  mean  mysel'. " 
There  is  many  a  metaphysical  poet  in  the  same  predicament 
with  honest  Hogg. 

157.  Scott  promised  to  invite  the  Shepherd  to  Abbotsford 
during  my  visit,  and  I  anticipated  much  gratification  in  meet 
ing  with  him,  from  the  account  I  had  received  of  his  character 
and  manners,  and  the  great  pleasure  I  had  derived  from  his 
works.     Circumstances,  however,  prevented  Scott  from  per 
forming  his  promise ;   and  to  my  great  regret  I  left  Scotland 
without  seeing  one  of  its  most  original  and  national  char 
acters. 

158.  When  the  weather  held  up,  we  continued  our  walk 
until  we  came  to  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  in  the  bosom  of  the 


ABBOTSFORD  247 

mountain,  called,  if  I  recollect  right,  the  Lake  of  Cauldshiel. 
Scott  prided  himself  much  upon  this  little  Mediterranean  sea  in 
his  dominions,  and  hoped  I  was  not  too  much  spoiled  by  our 
great  lakes  in  America  to  relish  it.  He  proposed  to  take  me  out 
to  the  centre  of  it,  to  a  fine  point  of  view :  for  which  purpose 
we  embarked  in  a  small  boat,  which  had  been  put  on  the  lake 
by  his  neighbor,  Lord  Somerville.  As  I  was  about  to  step 
on  board,  I  observed  in  large  letters  on  one  of  the  benches, 
"Search  No.  2."  I  paused  for  a  moment  and  repeated  the 
inscription  aloud,  trying  to  recollect  something  I  had  heard 
or  read  to  which  it  alluded.  "Pshaw,"  cried  Scott,  "it  is 
only  some  of  Lord  Somerville 's  nonsense ;  —  get  in  !"  In  an 
instant,  scenes  in  the  "Antiquary"  connected  with  "Search 
No.  I,"  flashed  upon  my  mind.  "Ah!  I  remember  now," 
said  I,  and  with  a  laugh  took  my  seat,  but  adverted  no  more 
to  the  circumstance. 

159.  We  had  a  pleasant  row  about  the  lake,  which  com 
manded  some  pretty  scenery.     The  most  interesting  circum 
stance  connected  with  it,  however,  according  to  Scott,  was, 
that  it  was  haunted  by  a  bogle  in  the  shape  of  a  water-bull, 
which  lived  in  the  deep  parts,  and  now  and  then  came  forth 
upon  dry  land  and  made  a  tremedous  roaring,  that  shook  the 
very  hills.     This  story  had  been  current  in  the  vicinity  from 
time  immemorial ;  —  there  was  a  man  living  who  declared 
he  had  seen  the  bull,  —  and  he  was  believed  by  many  of  his 
simple  neighbors.     "I  don't  choose  to  contradict  the  tale," 
said  Scott,  "for  I  am  willing  to  have  my  lake  stocked  with  any 
fish,  flesh,  or  fowl  that  my  neighbors  think  proper  to  put  into 
it ;  and  these  old  wives'  fables  are  a  kind  of  property  in  Scot 
land  that  belong  to  the  estates  and  go  with  the  soil.     Our 
streams  and  lochs  are  like  the  rivers  and  pools  in  Germany, 
that  have  all  their  Wasser-Nixen,  or  water-witches,  and  I  have 
a  fancy  for  this  kind  of  amphibious  bogles  and  hobgoblins." 

160.  Scott  went  on,  after  we  had  landed,  to  make  many 
remarks,  mingled  with  picturesque  anecdotes  concerning  the 
fabulous  beings  with  which  the  Scotch  were  apt  to  people  the 
wild  streams  and  lochs  that  occur  in  the  solemn  and  lonely 


248  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

scenes  of  their  mountains ;  and  to  compare  them  with  similar 
superstitions  among  the  northern  nations  of  Europe;  but 
Scotland,  he  said,  was  above  all  other  countries  for  this  wild 
and  vivid  progeny  of  the  fancy,  from  the  nature  of  the  scenery, 
the  misty  magnificence  and  vagueness  of  the  climate,  the  wild 
and  gloomy  events  of  its  history ;  the  clannish  divisions  of  its 
people;  their  local  feelings,  notions,  and  prejudices;  the 
individuality  of  their  dialect,  in  which  all  kinds  of  odd  and 
peculiar  notions  were  incorporated ;  by  the  secluded  life  of 
their  mountaineers ;  the  lonely  habits  of  their  pastoral  people, 
much  of  whose  time  was  passed  on  the  solitary  hill-sides; 
their  traditional  songs,  which  clothed  every  rock  and  stream 
with  old-world  stories,  handed  down  from  age  to  age, 
and  generation  to  generation.  The  Scottish  mind,  he  said, 
was  made  up  of  poetry  and  strong  common  sense;  and  the 
very  strength  of  the  latter  gave  perpetuity  and  luxuriance 
to  the  former.  It  was  a  strong  tenacious  soil,  into  which, 
when  once  a  seed  of  poetry  fell,  it  struck  deep  root  and  brought 
forth  abundantly.  "  You  will  never  weed  these  popular  stories 
and  songs  and  superstitions  out  of  Scotland,"  said  he.  "It 
is  not  so  much  that  the  people  believe  in  them,  as  that  they 
delight  in  them.  They  belong  to  the  native  hills  and  streams 
of  which  they  are  fond,  and  to  the  history  of  their  fore 
fathers,  of  which  they  are  proud." 

161.  "It  would  do  your  heart  good,"  continued  he,  "to  see 
a  number  of  our  poor  country  people  seated  round  the  ingle 
nook,  which  is  generally  capacious  enough,  and  passing  the 
long  dark  dreary  winter  nights  listening  to  some  old 
wife,  or  strolling  gaberlunzie,  dealing  out  auld-world  stories 
about  bogles  and  warlocks,  or  about  raids  and  forays,  and 
border  skirmishes ;  or  reciting  some  ballad  stuck  full  of  those 
fighting  names  that  stir  up  a  true  Scotchman's  blood  like 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  These  traditional  tales  and  ballads 
have  lived  for  ages  in  mere  oral  circulation,  being  passed  from 
father  to  son,  or  rather  from  grandam  to  grandchild,  and  are 
a  kind  of  hereditary  property  of  the  poor  peasantry,  of  which 
it  would  be  hard  to  deprive  them,  as  they  have  not  circulating 
libraries  to  supply  them  with  works  of  fiction  in  their  place." 


ABBOTSFORD 


249 


162.   I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  precise  words,  but,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  from  scanty  memorandums  and  vague  recol- 


THE  LIBRARY  AT  ABBOTSFORD 

lections,  the  leading  ideas  of  Scott.  I  am  constantly  sen 
sible,  however,  how  far  I  fall  short  of  his  copiousness  and 
richness. 

163.  He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  elves  and  sprites,  so 
frequent  in  Scottish  legend.  "Our  fairies,  however,"  said 
he,  "though  they  dress  in  green,  and  gambol  by  moonlight 
about  the  banks,  and  shaws,  and  burnsides,  are  not  such 
pleasant  little  folk  as  the  English  fairies,  but  are  apt  to  bear 
more  of  the  warlock  in  their  natures,  and  to  play  spiteful 
tricks.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used  to  look  wistfully  at  the 
green  hillocks  that  were  said  to  be  haunted  by  fairies,  and 
felt  sometimes  as  if  I  should  like  to  lie  down  by  them  and 
sleep,  and  be  carried  off  to  Fairy  Land,  only  that  I  did  not 
like  some  of  the  cantrips  which  used  now  and  then  to  be 
played  off  upon  visitors." 


250  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

164.  Here  Scott  recounted,  in  graphic  style,  and  with  much 
humor,  a  little  story  which  used  to  be  current  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  of  an  honest  burgess  of  Selkirk,  who,  being  at  work  upon 
the  hill  of  Peatlaw,  fell  asleep  upon  one  of  these   "fairy 
knowes,"  or  hillocks.     When  he  awoke,  he  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  gazed  about  him  with  astonishment,  for  he  was  in  the 
market-place  of  a  great  city,  with  a  crowd  of  people  bustling 
about  him,  not  one  of  whom  he  knew.     At  length  he  accosted 
a  bystander,  and  asked  him  the  name  of  the  place.     "  Hout, 
man,"  replied  the  other,  "are  ye  in  the  heart  o'  Glasgow,  and 
speer  the  name  of  it  ?  "    The  poor  man  was  astonished,  and 
would  not  believe  either  ears  or  eyes ;  he  insisted  that  he  had 
laid  down  to  sleep  but  half  an  hour  before  on  the  Peatlaw, 
near  Selkirk.     He  came  wellnigh  being  taken  up  for  a  mad 
man,  when,  fortunately,  a  Selkirk  man  came  by,  who  knew 
him,  and  took  charge  of  him,  and  conducted  him  back  to 
his  native  place.     Here,  however,  he  was  likely  to  fare  no 
better,  when  he  spoke  of  having  been  whisked  in  his  sleep 
from  the  Peatlaw  to  Glasgow.     The  truth  of  the  matter  at 
length  came  out :  his  coat,  which  he  had  taken  off  when  at 
work  on  the  Peatlaw,  was  found  lying  near  a  "fairy  knowe  "  ; 
and  his  bonnet,  which  was  missing,  was  discovered  on  the" 
weathercock  of  Lanark  steeple.     So  it  was  as  clear  as  day 
that   he   had   been  carried  through  the    air  by  the  fairies 
while  he  was  sleeping,  and  his  bonnet  had  been  blown  off 
by  the  way. 

165.  I  give  this  little  story  but  meagrely  from  a  scanty 
memorandum;    Scott  has  related  it  in  somewhat  different 
style  in  a  note  to  one  of  his  poems;   but  in  narration  these 
anecdotes  derived  their  chief  zest,  from  the  quiet  but  delight 
ful  humor,  the  bonhommie  with  which  he  seasoned  them,  and 
the  sly  glance  of  the  eye  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with 
which  they  were  accompanied. 

166.  That  day  at  dinner  we  had  Mr.  Laidlaw  and  his  wife, 
and  a  female  friend  who  accompanied  them.     The  latter  was  a 
very  intelligent,  respectable  person,  about  the  middle  age,  and 
was  treated  with  particular  attention  and  courtesy  by  Scott. 


ABBOTSFORD  251 

Our  dinner  was  a  most  agreeable  one ;  for  the  guests  were  evi 
dently  cherished  visitors  to  the  house,  and  felt  that  they  were 
appreciated. 

167.  When  they  were  gone,  Scott  spoke  of  them  in  the  most 
cordial  manner.    "Iwished  toshowyou,"  said  he,  "someof  our 
really  excellent,  plain  Scotch  people ;  not  fine  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  for  such  you  can  meet  everywhere,  and  they  are  every 
where  the  same.     The  character  of  a  nation  is  not  to  be  learnt 
from  its  fine  folks." 

168.  He  then  went  on  with  a  particular  elogium  on  the  lady 
who  had  accompanied  the  Laidlaws.     She  was  the  daughter, 
he  said,  of  a  poor  country  clergyman,  who  had  died  in  debt 
and  left  her  an  orphan  and  destitute.     Having  had  a  good 
plain  education,  she  immediately  set  up  a  child's  school,  and 
had  soon  a  numerous  flock  under  her  care,  by  which  she  earned 
a  decent  maintenance.     That,  however,  was  not  her  main 
object.     Her  first  care  was  to  pay  off  her  father's  debts,  that 
no  ill  word  or  ill  will  might  rest  upon  his  memory.     This,  by 
dint  of  Scottish  economy,  backed  by  filial  reverence  and  pride, 
she  accomplished,  though  in  the  effort  she  subjected  herself 
to  every  privation.     Not  content  with  this,  she  in  certain 
instances  refused  to  take  pay  for  the  tuition  of  the  children 
of  some  of  her  neighbors,  who  had  befriended  her  father  in  his 
need,  and   had    since   fallen   into  poverty.     "In    a   word," 
added  Scott,  "  she  is  a  fine  old  Scotch  girl ;  and  I  delight  in  her, 
more  than  in  many  a  fine  lady  I  have  known,  —  and  I  have 
known  many  of  the  finest." 

169.  It  is  time,  however,  to  draw  this  rambling  narrative 
to  a  close.     Several  days  were  passed  by  me,  in  the  way  I  have 
attempted   to   describe,   in   almost   constant,   familiar,   and 
joyous  conversation  with  Scott;  it  was  as  if  I  were  admitted 
to  a  social  communion  with  Shakspeare,  for  it  was  with  one  of 
a  kindred,  if  not  equal  genius.     Every  night  I  retired  with  my 
mind  filled  with  delightful  recollections  of  the  day,  and  every 
morning  I  rose  with  the  certainty  of  new  enjoyment.     The 
days  thus  spent  I  shall  ever  look  back  to  as  among  the  very 
happiest  of  my  life,  for  I  was  conscious  at  the  time  of  being 
happy. 


252  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

170.  The  only  sad  moment  that  I  experienced  at  Abbots- 
ford  was  that  of  my  departure ;  but  it  was  cheered  with  the 
prospect  of  soon  returning ;  for  I  had  promised,  after  making 
a  tour  in  the  Highlands,  to  come  and  pass  a  few  more  days  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  when  Scott  intended  to  invite  Hogg 
the  poet  to  meet  me.     I  took  a  kind  farewell  of  the  family, 
with  each  of  whom  I  had  been  highly  pleased ;  if  I  have  re 
frained  from  dwelling  particularly  on  their  several  characters, 
and  giving  anecdotes  of  them  individually,  it  is  because  I 
consider  them  shielded    by  the  sanctity  of  domestic  life : 
Scott,  on  the  contrary,  belongs  to  history.     As  he  accom 
panied  me  on  foot,  however,  to  a  small  gate  on  the  confines  of 
his  premises,  I  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  the  enjoy 
ment  I  had  experienced  in  his  domestic  circle,  and  passing 
some  warm  eulogiums  on  the  young  folks  from  whom  I  had 
just  parted.     I  shall  never  forget  his  reply.     "  They  have  kind 
hearts,"  said  he,  "and  that  is  the  main  point  as  to  human 
happiness.     They  love  one  another,  poor  things,  which  is 
everything  in  domestic  life.     The  best  wish  I  can  make  you, 
my  friend,"  added  he,  laying  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  "is, 
that  when  you  return  to  your  own  country  you  may  get  mar 
ried,  and  have  a  family  of  young  bairns  about  you.     If  you 
are  happy,  there  they  are  to  share  your  happiness  —  and  if 
you  are  otherwise  —  there  they  are  to  comfort  you." 

171.  By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  gate,  when  he  halted, 
and  took  my  hand.     "I  will  not  say  farewell,"  said  he,  "for 
it  is  always  a  painful  word,  but  I  will  say,  come  again.     When 
you  have  made  your  tour  to  the  Highlands,  come  here  and  give 
me  a  few  more  days  —  but  come  when  you  please,  you  will 
always  find  Abbotsford  open  to  you,  and  a  hearty  welcome." 

172.  I  have  thus  given,  in  a  rude  style,  my  main  recollec 
tions  of  what  occurred  during  my  sojourn  at  Abbotsford,  and 
I  feel  mortified  that  I  can  give  but  such  meagre,  scattered, 
and  colorless  details  of  what  was  so  copious,  rich,  and  varied. 
During  several  days  that  I  passed   there,  Scott  was  in  ad 
mirable  vein.     From  early  morn  until  dinner  time  he  was 
rambling  about,  showing  me  the  neighborhood,  and  during 


ABBOTSFOBD  253 

dinner,  and  until  late  at  night,  engaged  in  social  conversation. 
No  time  was  reserved  for  himself;  he  seemed  as  if  his  only 
occupation  was  to  entertain  me;  and  yet  I  was  almost  an 
entire  stranger  to  him,  one  of  whom  he  knew  nothing  but  an 
idle  book  I  had  written,  and  which,  some  years  before,  had 
amused  him.  But  such  was  Scott  —  he  appeared  to  have 
nothing  to  do  but  lavish  his  time,  attention,  and  conversation 
on  those  around.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine  what  time  he 
found  to  write  those  volumes  that  were  incessantly  issuing 
from  the  press ;  all  of  which,  too,  were  of  a  nature  to  require 
reading  and  research.  I  could  not  find  that  his  life  was  ever 
otherwise  than  a  life  of  leisure  and  hap-hazard  recreation,  such 
as  it  was  during  my  visit.  He  scarce  ever  balked  a  party  of 
pleasure,  or  a  sporting  excursion,  and  rarely  pleaded  his  own 
concerns  as  an  excuse  for  rejecting  those  of  others.  During 
my  visit  I  heard  of  other  visitors  who  had  preceded  me,  and 
who  must  have  kept  him  occupied  for  many  days,  and  I  have 
had  an  opportunity  of  knowing  the  course  of  his  daily  life  for 
some  time  subsequently.  Not  long  after  my  departure  from 
Abbotsford,  my  friend  Wilkie  arrived  there,  to  paint  a  picture 
of  the  Scott  family.  He  found  the  house  full  of  guests. 
Scott's  whole  time  was  taken  up  in  riding  and  driving  about 
the  country,  or  in  social  conversation  at  home.  "All  this 
time,"  said  Wilkie  to  me,  "I  did  not  presume  to  ask  Mr. 
Scott  to  sit  for  his  portrait,  for  I  saw  he  had  not  a  moment 
to  spare ;  I  waited  for  the  guests  to  go  away,  but  as  fast  as  one 
went  another  arrived,  and  so  it  continued  for  several  days, 
and  with  each  set  he  was  completely  occupied.  At  length  all 
went  off,  and  we  were  quiet.  I  thought,  however,  Mr.  Scott 
will  now  shut  himself  up  among  his  books  and  papers,  for  he 
has  to  make  up  for  lost  time ;  it  won't  do  for  me  to  ask  him 
now  to  sit  for  his  picture.  Laidlaw,  who  managed  his  estate, 
came  in,  and  Scott  turned  to  him,  as  I  supposed,  to  consult 
about  business.  'Laidlaw/  said  he,  'to-morrow  morning 
we'll  go  across  the  water  and  take  the  dogs  with  us:  there's 
a  place  where  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  find  a  hare.' 

173.   "In  short,"  added  Wilkie,  "I  found  that  instead  of 
business,  he  was  thinking  only  of  amusement,  as  if  he  had 


254  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

nothing  in  the  world  to  occupy  him ;  so  I  no  longer  feared  to 
intrude  upon  him." 

174.  The  conversation  of  Scott  was  frank,  hearty,  pictur 
esque,  and  dramatic.     During  the  time  of  my  visit  he  inclined 
to  the  comic  rather  than  the  grave,  in  his  anecdotes  and 
stories,  and  such,  I  was  told,  was  his  general  inclination. 
He  relished  a  joke,  or  a  trait  of  humor  in  social  intercourse, 
and  laughed  with  right  good  will.     He  talked  not  for  effect, 
nor  display,  but  from  the  flow  of  his  spirits,  the  stores  of  his 
memory,  and  the  vigor  of  his  imagination.     He  had  a  natural 
turn  for  narration,  and  his  narratives  and  descriptions  were 
without   effort,    yet   wonderfully   graphic.     He   placed   the 
scene  before  you  like  a  picture ;    he  gave  the  dialogue  with 
the  appropriate  dialect  or  peculiarities,  and  described  the  ap 
pearance  and  characters  of  his  personages  with  that  spirit  and 
felicity  evinced  in  his  writings.    Indeed,  his  conversation  re 
minded  me  continually  of  his  novels;   and  it  seemed  to  me, 
that,  during  the  whole  time  I  was  with  him,  he  talked  enough 
to  fill  volumes,  and  that  they  could  not   have  been  filled 
more  delightfully. 

175.  He  was  as  good  a  listener  as  talker,  appreciating  every 
thing  that  others  said,  however  humble  might  be  their  rank  or 
pretensions,  and  was  quick  to  testify  his  perception  of  any 
point  in  their  discourse.     He  arrogated  nothing  to  himself,  but 
was  perfectly  unassuming  and  unpretending,  entering  with 
heart  and  soul  into  the  business,  or  pleasure,  or,  I  had  almost 
said,  folly,  of  the  hour  and  the  company.     No  one's  concerns, 
no  one's  thoughts,  no  one's  opinions,  no  -one's  tastes  and 
pleasures  seemed  beneath  him.     He  made  himself  so  thor 
oughly  the  companion  of  those  with  whom  he  happened  to  be, 
that  they  forgot   for  a  time  his  vast  superiority,  and  only 
recollected  and  wondered,  when  all  was  over,  that  it  was  Scott 
with  whom  they  had  been  on  such  familiar  terms,  and  in 
whose  society  they  had  felt  so  perfectly  at  their  ease. 

176.  It  was  delightful  to  observe  the  generous  spirit  in 
which  he  spoke  of  all  his  literary  contemporaries,  quoting 
the  beauties  of  their  works,  and  this,  too,  with  respect  to  per 
sons  with  whom  he  might  have  been  supposed  to  be  at  vari- 


ABBOTSFORD 


255 


ance  in  literature  or  politics.  Jeffrey,  it  was  thought,  had 
ruffled  his  plumes  in  one  of  his  reviews,  yet  Scott  spoke  of  him 
in  terms  of  high  and  warm  eulogy,  both  as  an  author  and  as 
a  man. 

177.    His  humor  in  conversation,  as  in  his  works,  was  genial 
and  free  from  all  causticity.     He  had  a  quick  perception  of 


THE  ABBOTSFORD  FAMILY  IN  1817 
After  the  painting  by  Sir  David  Wilkie 

faults  and  foibles,  but  he  looked  upon  poor  human  nature  with 
an  indulgent  eye,  relishing  what  was  good  and  pleasant,  tol 
erating  what  was  frail,  and  pitying  what  was  evil.  It  is  this 
beneficent  spirit  which  gives  such  an  air  of  bonhommie  to 
Scott's  humor  throughout  all  his  works.  He  played  with  the 
foibles  and  errors  of  his  fellow-beings,  and  presented  them  in 
a  thousand  whimsical  and  characteristic  lights,  but  the  kind 
ness  and  generosity  of  his  nature  would  not  allow  him  to  be  a 
satirist.  I  do  not  recollect  a  sneer  throughout  his  conver 
sation  any  more  than  there  is  throughout  his  works. 


256  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

178.  Such  is  a  rough  sketch  of  Scott,  as  I  saw  him  in  private 
life,  not  merely  at  the  time  of  the  visit  here  narrated,  but  in 
the  casual  intercourse  of  subsequent  years.  Of  his  public 
character  and  merits  all  the  world  can  judge.  His  works  have 
incorporated  themselves  with  the  thoughts  and  concerns  of 
the  whole  civilized  world,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  have 
had  a  controlling  influence  over  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
But  when  did  a  human  being  ever  exercise  an  influence  more 
salutary  and  benignant  ?  Who  is  there  that,  on  looking  back 
over  a  great  portion  of  his  life,  does  not  find  the  genius  of 
Scott  administrating  to  his  pleasures,  beguiling  his  cares,  and 
soothing  his  lonely  sorrows?  Who  does  not  still  regard  his 
works  as  a  treasury  of  pure  enjoyment,  an  armory  to  which 
to  resort  in  time  of  need,  to  find  weapons  with  which  to  fight 
off  the  evils  and  the  griefs  of  life?  For  my  own  part,  in 
periods  of  dejection,  I  have  hailed  the  announcement  of  a 
new  work  from  his  pen  as  an  earnest  of  certain  pleasure  in 
store  for  me,  and  have  looked  forward  to  it  as  a  traveller  in  a 
waste  looks  to  a  green  spot  at  a  distance,  where  he  feels  as 
sured  of  solace  and  refreshment.  When  I  consider  how  much 
he  has  thus  contributed  to  the  better  hours  of  my  past 
existence,  and  how  independent  his  works  still  make  me,  at 
times,  of  all  the  world  for  my  enjoyment,  I  bless  my  stars 
that  cast  my  lot  in  his  days,  to  be  thus  cheered  and  glad 
dened  by  the  outpourings  of  his  genius.  I  consider  it  one 
of  the  greatest  advantages  that  I  have  derived  from  my 
literary  career,  that  it  has  elevated  me  into  genial  com 
munion  with  such  a  spirit ;  and  as  a  tribute  of  gratitude  for 
his  friendship,  and  veneration  for  his  memory,  I  cast  this 
humble  stone  upon  his  cairn,  which  will  soon,  I  trust,  be 
piled  aloft  with  the  contribution  of  abler  hands. 


THE  STUDY  OF  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

PRELIMINARY  NOTE 

IRVING'S  essays  often  approach  the  narrative  form;  his  stories, 
in  turn,  are  often  in  the  first  part  no  more  than  narrative 
essays.  In  them,  he  follows  his  usual  custom,  beginning  with 
general  description,  going  on,  presently,  to  particulars  of  time, 
place,  special  interest,  etc.  Afterward,  he  takes  up  in  order  the 
persons  who  are  to  appear  in  the  story,  giving  first  a  description 
of  appearance  and  character,  then  an  account  of  manner  of  life, 
peculiarities,  and  relations  with  neighbors  and  friends.  The 
real  story  begins  only  when  Irving  has  finished  all  preliminaries 
and  described  in  detail  place,  persons,  and  antecedent  story; 
the  particular  incident  is  then  introduced  as  an  illustration  of 
the  general  and  habitual  course  of  life  described  before. 

Irving  himself  recognized  the  moment  of  transition  from 
preliminary  narrative  to  the  real  action,  or  plot  of  his  story, 
and  invariably  marked  the  change  by  assuming  a  definite  time 
as  a  beginning,  and  by  dropping  the  historical  past  of  customary 
action  and  using  the  past  of  direct  narrative.  In  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle,"  the  real  story  begins  "  .  .  .  on  a  fine  autumnal  day 
Rip  had  unconsciously,"  etc.  The  story  of  "The  Legend  of 
Sleepy  Hollow  "  begins,  "On  a  fine  autumnal  afternoon,  Icha- 
bod  .  .  .  sat  enthroned,"  etc. 

Irving's  way  of  telling  a  story  is  in  marked  contrast  with  the 
literary  conventions  of  the  present  day,  when  readers  are  plunged 
at  once  in  medias  res,  with  slight  clue  to  incidental  matters 
or  antecedent  story,  while  essential  preliminaries,  if  given  at  all, 
must  be  introduced  later,  as  occasion  offers.  The  effectiveness 
of  a  very  simple  incident,  told  in  the  earlier  manner,  is  due  in 
great  part  to  the  careful  preliminary  descriptions  which  create 
background  and  atmosphere  for  the  reader,  so  that  scenes  and 
persons  appearing  in  the  story  are  already  familiar  and  asso 
ciated  with  the  homely,  simple  facts  of  real  life  on  which  sym 
pathy  and  interest  depend. 

The  following  discussion  of  the  art  of  story  telling,  from  a 
letter  written  by  Irving  in  1824,  is  especially  pertinent  to  the 
tales  published  in  "  The  Sketch-Book  "  :  — 

" .  .  .1  fancy  much  of  what  I  value  myself  upon  in  writing,  escapes 
the  observation  of  the  great  mass  of  my  readers,  who  are  intent  more 
upon  the  story  than  the  way  in  which  it  is  told.  For  my  part,  I  consider 

257 


258  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

a  story  merely  as  a  frame  on  which  to  stretch  my  materials.  It  is  the 
play  of  thought,  and  sentiment,  and  language  ;  the  weaving  in  of  char 
acters,  lightly,  yet  expressively  delineated ;  the  familiar  and  faithful 
exhibition  of  scenes  in  common  life ;  and  the  half-concealed  vein  of 
humor  that  is  often  playing  through  the  whole, —  these  are  among  what 
I  aim  at,  and  upon  which  I  felicitate  myself  in  proportion  as  I  think 
I  succeed.  I  have  preferred  adopting  the  mode  of  sketches  and  short 
tales  rather  than  long  works,  because  I  choose  to  take  a  line  of  writing 
peculiar  to  myself,  rather  than  fall  into  the  manner  or  school  of  any 
other  writer;  and  there  is  a  constant  activity  of  thought  and  a  nicety  of 
execution  required  in  writings  of  the  kind,  more  than  the  world  appears 
to  imagine.  It  is  comparatively  easy  to  swell  a  story  to  any  size  when 
you  have  once  the  scheme  and  the  characters  in  your  mind  ;  the  mere 
interest  of  the  story,  too,  carries  the  reader  on  through  pages  and 
pages  of  careless  writing,  and  the  author  may  often  be  dull  for  half 
a  volume  at  a  time,  if  he  has  some  striking  scene  at  the  end  of  it ;  but 
in  these  shorter  writings,  every  page  must  have  its  merit.  The  author 
must  be  continually  piquant ;  woe  to  him  if  he  makes  an  awkward 
sentence  or  writes  a  stupid  page ;  the  critics  are  sure  to  pounce  upon 
it.  Yet  if  he  succeed,  the  very  variety  and  piquancy  of  his  writings  — 
nay,  their  very  brevity,  make  them  frequently  recurred  to,  and  when 
the  mere  interest  of  the  story  is  exhausted,  he  begins  to  get  credit  for 
his  touches  of  pathos  or  humor;  his  points  of  wit  or  turns  of  lan 
guage.  I  give  these  as  some  of  the  reasons  that  have  induced  me  to 
keep  on  thus  far  in  the  way  I  had  opened  for  myself ;  because  I  find 
.  .  .  that  you  are  joining  in  the  oft-repeated  advice  that  I  should  write 
a  novel.  I  believe  the  works  that  I  have  written  will  be  oftener  re 
read  than  any  novel  of  the  size  that  I  could  have  written.  It  is 
true  other  writers  have  crowded  into  the  same  branch  of  literature, 
and  I  now  begin  to  find  myself  elbowed  by  men  who  have  followed 
my  footsteps ;  but  at  any  rate  I  have  had  the  merit  of  adopting  a  line 
for  myself,  instead  of  following  others." 

—  LIFE  AND  LETTERS,  II,  pp.  51-2. 

The  following  selections  from  Irving's  works  or  letters  have 
an  intimate  relation  to  the  scenes  and  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle. 
The  description  of  travel  on  the  Hudson  river  is,  besides,  of  great 
interest  as  a  picture  of  life  in  the  United  States  in  early  days, 
before  the  great  changes  brought  about  by  modern  invention. 
The  legend  of  "  The  Storm  Ship,"  taken  from  "  Dolph  Heyliger," 
might  have  been  written  as  an  introduction  to  the  story  of  Rip 
Van  Winkle, 'and  as  such  it  is  reprinted  here.  The  suggestion 
that  the  phantom  ship  might  be  the  Half-moon  bearing  the 
veritable  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew  to  their  periodical 
revels  in  the  Kaatskili  mountains  foreshadows  Rip's  strange 
adventure. 

Human  instinct  seeks  a  local  habitation  for  each  story  or 
tradition,  —  for  the  twenty-j^ear  long  sleep  of  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
no  less  than  for  the  inn  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  Irving 
explored  the  scenes  of  his  own  story  for  the  first  time  in  1833. 
Later,  he  received  a  letter  from  a  young  lad  of  the  village  of 


THE   STUDY   OF   KIP   VAN   WINKLE  259 

Catskill,  who  inquired  about  the  localities  of  the  story.     His 
answer  may  be  read  in  "  Life  and  Letters/'  II.,  p.  281. 

It  seems  to  have  been  Irving's  thought  that  the  green  knoll 
overlooking  the  lowlands  and  the  Hudson,  the  dry  bed  of  the 
mountain-  stream,  and  the  opening  through  the  cliffs  should 
have  no  more  definite  location  for  the  reader  than  in  the  hazy  brain 
of  the  bewildered  Rip  when  he  awakened.  Guides,  however, 
have  gone  about  the  business  of  satisfying  the  curious,  and  if 
you  visit  the  Catskills  you  will  be  shown  the  plateau  where  Rip 
came  upon  the  "company  of  odd  looking  personages  playing 
at  ninepins";  and  farther  down,  near  the  mountain  path, 
you  will  discover  the  very  rock  upon  which  Rip  was  deposited 
by  the  phantom  crew  for  his  long  sleep,  and  see  the  indentations 
where  his  shoulders  rested!  D. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  IRVING'S  FIRST  VOYAGE  UP  THE  HUDSON 

From  an  article  called  "  The  Kaatskill  Mountains,"  written  by  Irving  in  1851. 

My  first  voyage  up  the  Hudson  was  made  in  early  boyhood, 
in  the  good  old  times  before  steamboats  and  railroads  had 
annihilated  time  and  space,  and  driven  all  poetry  and  romance 
out  of  travel.  A  voyage  to  Albany  then,  was  equal  to  a  voy 
age  to  Europe  at  present,  and  took  Almost  as  much  time.  We 
enjoyed  the  beauties  of  the  river  in  those  days;  the  features 
of  nature  were  not  all  jumbled  together,  nor  the  towns  and 
villages  huddled  one  into  the  other  by  railroad  speed  as  they 
now  are. 

I  was  to  make  the  voyage  under  the  protection  of  a  relative 
of  mature  age  —  one  experienced  in  the  river.  His  first  care 
was  to  look  out  for  a  favorite  sloop  and  captain,  in  which 
there  was  great  choice. 

The  constant  voyaging  in  the  river  craft  by  the  best  families 
of  New  York  and  Albany,  made  the  merits  of  captains  and 
sloops  matters  of  notoriety  and  discussion  in  both  cities.  The 
captains  were  mediums  of  communication  between  separated 
friends  and  families.  On  the  arrival  of  one  of  them  at  either 
place  he  had  messages  to  deliver  and  commissions  to  execute 
which  took  him  from  house  to  house.  Some  of  the  ladies  of 
the  family  had,  peradventure,  made  a  voyage  on  board  of  his 
sloop,  and  experienced  from  him  that  protecting  care  which 
is  always  remembered  with  gratitude  by  female  passengers. 


260  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

In  this  way  the  captains  of  Albany  sloops  were  personages  of 
more  note  in  the  community  than  captains  of  European 
packets  or  steamships  at  the  present  day.  A  sloop  was  at 
length  chosen;  but  she  had  yet  to  complete  her  freight  and 
secure  a  sufficient  number  of  passengers.  Days  were  con 
sumed  in  "drumming  up"  a  cargo.  This  was  a  tormenting 
delay  to  me  who  was  about  to  make  my  first  voyage,  and  who, 
boy-like,  had  packed  up  my  trunk  on  the  first  mention  of  the 
expedition.  How  often  that  trunk  had  to  be  unpacked  and 
repacked  before  we  sailed ! 

...  At  length  the  sloop  actually  got  under  way.  As  she 
worked  slowly  out  of  the  dock  into  the  stream,  there  was  a 
great  exchange  of  last  words  between  friends  on  board  and 
friends  on  shore,  and  much  waving  of  handkerchiefs  when  the 
sloop  was  out  of  hearing. 

Our  captain  was  a  worthy  man,  native  of  Albany,  of  one 
of  the  old  Dutch  stocks.  His  crew  was  composed  of  blacks, 
reared  in  the  family  and  belonging  to  him,  for  negro  slavery 
still  existed  in  the  State.  All  his  communications  with  them 
were  in  Dutch.  They  were  obedient  to  his  orders;  though 
they  occasionally  had  much  previous  discussion  of  the  wisdom 
of  them,  and  were  sometimes  positive  in  maintaining  an 
opposite  opinion.  This  was  especially  the  case  with  an  old 
gray-headed  negro,  who  had  sailed  with  the  captain's  father 
when  the  captain  was  a  mere  boy,  and  who  was  very  crabbed 
and  conceited  on  points  of  seamanship.  I  observed  that  the 
captain  generally  let  him  have  his  own  way. 

.  .  .  What  a  time  of  intense  delight  was  that  first  sail 
through  the  Highlands !  I  sat  on  the  deck  as  we  slowly  tided 
along  at  the  foot  of  those  stern  mountains,  and  gazed  with 
wonder  and  admiration  at  cliffs  impending  far  above  me, 
crowned  with  forests,  with  eagles  sailing  and  screaming  around 
them ;  or  listened  to  the  unseen  stream  dashing  down  preci 
pices  ;  or  beheld  rock,  and  tree,  and  cloud,  and  sky  reflected 
in  the  glassy  stream  of  the  river.  And  then  how  solemn  and 
thrilling  the  scene  as  we  anchored  at  night  at  the  foot  of  these 
mountains,  clothed  with  overhanging  forests ;  and  everything 
grew  dark  and  mysterious ;  and  I  heard  the  plaintive  note  of 
the  whip-poor-will  from  the  mountain-side,  or  was  startled 
now  and  then  by  the  sudden  leap  and  heavy  splash  of  the 
sturgeon. 

.  .  .  But  of  all  the  scenery  of  the  Hudson,  the  Kaatskill 


THE   STUDY   OF   RIP   VAN   WINKLE  261 

mountains  had  the  most  witching  effect  on  my  boyish  imagi 
nation.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  effect  upon  me  of  the  first 
view  of  them  predominating  over  a  wide  extent  of  country, 
part  wild,  woody,  and  rugged ;  part  softened  away  into  all 
the  graces  of  cultivation.  As  we  slowly  floated  along,  I  lay 
on  the  deck  and  watched  them  through  a  long  summer's 
day,  undergoing  a  thousand  mutations  under  the  magical 
effects  of  atmosphere;  sometimes  seeming  to  approach,  at 
other  times  to  recede ;  now  almost  melting  into  hazy  distance, 
now  burnished  by  the  setting  sun,  until,  in  the  evening,  they 
printed  themselves  against  the  glowing  sky  in  the  deep  purple 
of  an  Italian  landscape. 

In  the  foregoing  pages  I  have  given  the  reader  my  first 
voyaging  amid  Hudson  scenery.  It  has  been  my  lot,  in  the 
course  of  a  somewhat  wandering  life,  to  see  some  of  the  rivers 
of  the  old  world  most  renowned  in  history  and  song,  yet  none 
have  been  able  to  efface  or  dim  the  pictures  of  my  native 
stream  thus  early  stamped  upon  my  memory.  My  heart 
would  ever  revert  to  them  with  a  filial  feeling,  and  a  recurrence 
of  the  joyous  associations  of  boyhood;  and  such  recollec 
tions  are,  in  fact,  the  true  fountains  of  youth  which  keep  the 
heart  from  growing  old. 

To  me  the  Hudson  is  full  of  storied  associations,  connected 
as  it  is  with  some  of  the  happiest  portions  of  my  life.  Each 
striking  feature  brings  to  mind  some  early  adventure  or  enjoy 
ment;  some  favorite  companion  who  shared  it  with  me; 
some  fair  object,  perchance,  of  youthful  admiration,  who, 
like  a  star,  may  have  beamed  her  allotted  time  and  passed 
away. 

—  LIFE  AND  LETTERS,  I,  pp.  17-20. 

THE  CATSKILL  MOUNTAINS 

From  "Biographies  and  Miscellanies,"  edited  after  Irving's  death,  by  Pierre 
M.  Irving. 

The  Catskill,  Kaatskill,  or  Cat  River  mountains  derived 
their  name,  in  the  time  of  the  Dutch  domination,  from  the 
catamounts  by  which  they  were  infested;  and  which,  with 
the  bear,  the  wolf,  and  the  deer,  are  still  to  be  found  in  some  of 
their  most  difficult  recesses.  The  interior  of  these  mountains 
is  in  the  highest  degree  wild  and  romantic.  Here  are  rocky 
precipices  mantled  with  primeval  forests ;  deep  gorges  walled 


262  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

in  by  beetling  cliffs,  with  torrents  tumbling  as  it  were  from 
the  sky;  and  savage  glens  rarely  trodden  excepting  by  the 
hunter.  With  all  this  internal  rudeness,  the  aspect  of  these 
mountains  towards  the  Hudson  at  times  is  eminently  bland 
and  beautiful,  sloping  down  into  a  country  softened  by  culti 
vation,  and  bearing  much  of  the  rich  character  of  Italian 
scenery  about  the  skirts  of  the  Apennines. 

The  Catskills  form  an  advanced  post  or  lateral  spur  of  the 
great  Alleghanian  or  Appalachian  system  of  mountains  which 
sweeps  through  the  interior  of  our  continent,  from  southwest 
to  northeast,  from  Alabama  to  the  extremity  of  Maine,  for 
nearly  fourteen  hundred  miles,  belting  the  whole  of  our  original 
confederacy,  and  rivalling  our  great  system  of  lakes  in  extent 
and  grandeur.  Its  vast  ramifications  comprise  a  number  of 
parallel  chains  and  lateral  groups ;  such  as  the  Cumberland 
mountains,  the  Blue  Ridge,  the  Alleghanies,  the  Delaware  and 
Lehigh,  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  the  Green  mountains  of 
Vermont  and  the  White  mountains  of  New  Hampshire. 
In  many  of  these  vast  ranges  or  sierras,  Nature  still  reigns 
in  indomitable  wildness;  their  rocky  ridges,  their  rugged 
clefts  and  defiles,  teem  with  magnificent  vegetation. 

Here  are  locked  up  mighty  forests  that  have  never  been 
invaded  by  the  axe ;  deep  umbrageous  valleys  where  the  vir 
gin  soil  has  never  been  outraged  by  the  plough ;  bright  streams 
flowing  in  untasked  idleness,  unburdened  by  commerce, 
unchecked  by  the  mill-dam.  This  mountain  zone  is  in  fact 
the  great  poetical  region  of  our  country;  resisting,  like  the 
tribes  which  once  inhabited  it,  the  taming  hand  of  cultivation ; 
and  maintaining  a  hallowed  ground  for  fancy  and  the  Muses. 
It  is  a  magnificent  and  all-pervading  feature,  that  might 
have  given  our  country  a  name,  and  a  poetical  one,  had 
not  the  all-controlling  powers  of  commonplace  determined 
otherwise. 

The  Catskill  mountains,  as  I  have  observed,  maintain  all 
the  internal  wildness  of  the  labyrinth  of  mountains  with 
which  they  are  connected.  Their  detached  position,  over 
looking  a  wide  lowland  region,  with  the  majestic  Hudson 
rolling  through  it,  has  given  them  a  distinct  character,  and 
rendered  them  at  all  times  a  rallying  point  for  romance  and 
fable.  Much  of  the  fanciful  associations  with  which  they 
have  been  clothed  may  be  owing  to  their  being  peculiarly 
subject  to  those  beautiful  atmospherical  effects  which  con- 


THE   STUDY   OF   RIP   VAN   WINKLE  263 

stitute  one  of  the  great  charms  of  Hudson  river  scenery. 
To  me  they  have  ever  been  the  fairy  region  of  the  Hudson. 
I  speak,  however,  from  early  impressions,  made  in  the  happy 
days  of  boyhood,  when  all  the  world  had  a  tinge  of  fairyland. 
I  shall  never  forget  my  first  view  of  these  mountains.  It  was 
in  the  course  of  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson,  in  the  good  old  times 
before  steamboats  and  railroads  had  driven  all  poetry  and 
romance  out  of  travel.  A  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  those 
days  was  equal  to  a  voyage  to  Europe  at  present,  and  cost 
almost  as  much  time;  but  we  enjoyed  the  river  then;  we, 
relished  it  as  we  did  our  wine,  sip  by  sip,  not  as  at  present, 
gulping  all  down  at  a  draught,  without  tasting  it.  My 
whole  voyage  up  the  Hudson  was  full  of  wonder  and  romance. 
I  was  a  lively  boy,  somewhat  imaginative,  of  easy  faith, 
and  prone  to  relish  everything  that  partook  of  the  marvellous. 
Among  the  passengers  on  board  of  the  sloop  was  a  veteran 
Indian  trader,  on  his  way  to  the  lakes  to  traffic  with  the  na 
tives.  He  had  discovered  my  propensity,  and  amused  him 
self  throughout  the  voyage  by  telling  me  Indian  legends  and 
grotesque  stories  about  every  noted  place  on  the  river,  — 
such  as  Spuyten  Devil  creek,  the  Tappan  sea,  the  Devil's 
Dans  Kammer,  and  other  hobgoblin  places.  The  Catskill 
mountains  especially  called  forth  a  host  of  fanciful  traditions. 
We  were  all  day  slowly  tiding  along  in  sight  of  them,  so  that 
he  had  full  time  to  weave  his  whimsical  narratives.  In  these 
mountains,  he  told  me,  according  to  Indian  belief,  was  kept 
the  great  treasury  of  storm  and  sunshine  for  the  region  of 
the  Hudson.  An  old  squaw  spirit  had  charge  of  it,  who  dwelt 
on  the  highest  peak  of  the  mountain.  Here  she  kept  Day  and 
Night  shut  up  in  her  wigwam,  letting  out  only  one  of  them  at 
a  time.  She  made  new  moons  every  month,  and  hung  them 
up  in  the  sky  cutting  up  the  old  ones  into  stars.  The  great 
Manitou,  or  master-spirit,  employed  her  to  manufacture 
clouds ;  sometimes  she  wove  them  out  of  cobwebs,  gossamers, 
and  morning  dew,  and  sent  them  off  flake  after  flake,  to  float 
in  the  air  and  give  light  summer  showers.  Sometimes  she 
would  brew  up  black  thunder-storms,  and  send  down  drench 
ing  rains  to  swell  the  streams  and  sweep  everything  away. 
He  had  many  stories,  also,  about  mischievous  spirits  who 
infested  the  mountains  in  the  shape  of  animals,  and  played 
all  kinds  of  pranks  upon  Indian  hunters,  decoying  them  into 
quagmires  and  morasses,  or  to  the  brinks  of  torrents  and 


264  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

precipices.  All  these  were  doled  out  to  me  as  I  lay  on  the 
deck  throughout  a  long  summer's  day,  gazing  upon  these 
mountains,  the  everchanging  shapes  and  hues  of  which  ap 
peared  to  realize  the  magical  influences  in  question.  Some 
times  they  seemed  to  approach ;  at  others  to  recede ;  during 
the  heat  of  the  day  they  almost  melted  into  a  sultry  haze ;  as 
the  day  declined  they  deepened  in  tone ;  their  summits  were 
brightened  by  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  and  later  in  the  even 
ing  their  whole  outline  was  printed  in  deep  purple  against 
an  amber  sky.  As  I  beheld  them  thus  shifting  continually 
before  my  eyes,  and  listened  to  the  marvellous  legends  of  the 
trader,  a  host  of  fanciful  notions  concerning  them  was  con 
jured  into  my  brain,  which  have  haunted  it  ever  since. 

As  to  the  Indian  superstitions  concerning  the  treasury  of 
storms  and  sunshine,  and  the  cloud-weaving  spirits,  they 
may  have  been  suggested  by  the  atmospherical  phenomena 
of  these  mountains,  the  clouds  which  gather  round  their 
summits,  and  the  thousand  aerial  effects  which  indicate  the 
changes  of  weather  over  a  great  extent  of  country.  They  are 
epitomes  of  our  variable  climate,  and  are  stamped  with  all 
its  vicissitudes.  And  here  let  me  say  a  word  in  favor  of  those 
vicissitudes  which  are  too  often  made  the  subject  of  exclusive 
repining.  If  they  annoy  us  occasionally  by  changes  from 
hot  to  cold,  from  wet  to  dry,  they  give  us  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  climates  in  the  world.  They  give  us  the  brilliant 
sunshine  of  the  south  of  Europe,  with  the  fresh  verdure  of  the 
north.  They  float  our  summer  sky  with  clouds  of  gorgeous 
tints  or  fleecy  whiteness,  and  send  down  cooling  showers  to 
refresh  the  panting  earth  and  keep  it  green.  Our  seasons  are 
all  poetical ;  the  phenomena  of  our  heavens  are  full  of  sub 
limity  and  beauty.  Winter  with  us  has  none  of  its  proverbial 
gloom.  It  may  have  its  howling  winds,  and  thrilling  frosts, 
and  whirling  snowstorms;  but  it  has  also  its  long  intervals 
of  cloudless  sunshine,  when  the  snow-clad  earth  gives  re 
doubled  brightness  to  the  day ;  when  at  night  the  stars  beam 
with  intense  lustre,  or  the  moon  floods  the  whole  landscape 
with  her  most  limpid  radiance;  —  and  then  the  joyous  out 
break  of  our  spring,  bursting  at  once  into  leaf  and  blossom, 
redundant  with  vegetation  and  vociferous  with  life !  —  And 
the  splendors  of  our  summer,  —  its  morning  voluptuousness 
and  evening  glory ;  its  airy  palaces  of  sun-gilt  clouds  piled  up 
in  a  deep  azure  sky,  and  its  gusts  of  tempest  of  almost  tropical 


THE   STUDY   OF   RIP   VAN   WINKLE  265 

grandeur,  when  the  forked  lightning  and  the  bellowing  thunder 
volley  from  the  battlements  of  heaven  and  shake  the  sultry 
atmosphere,  —  and  the  sublime  melancholy  of  our  autumn, 
magnificent  in  its  decay,  withering  down  the  pomp  and  pride 
of  a  woodland  country,  yet  reflecting  back  from  its  yellow 
forests  the  golden  serenity  of  the  sky :  —  surely  we  may  say 
that  in  our  climate,  "The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God, 
and  the  firmament  showeth  forth  his  handiwork :  day  unto  day 
uttereth  speech;  and  night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge." 

A  word  more  concerning  the  Catskills.  It  is  not  the  Indians 
only  to  whom  they  have  been  a  kind  of  wonder-land.  In  the 
early  times  of  the  Dutch  dynasty  we  find  them  themes  of 
golden  speculation  among  even  the  sages  of  New  Amsterdam. 

[Here  follows  the  story  of  Kieft's  disastrous  attempts  to 
find  gold  in  these  mountains.  —  D.] 

...  In  1649,  about  two  years  after  the  shipwreck  of  Wilhel- 
mus  Kieft,  there  was  again  a  rumor  of  precious  metals  in  these 
mountains.  Mynheer  Brant  Arent  Van  Slechtenhorst,  agent 
of  the  Patroon  of  Rensselaerswyck,  had  purchased  in  behalf 
of  the  Patroon  a  tract  of  the  Catskill  lands,  and  leased  it  out 
in  farms.  A  Dutch  lass  in  the  household  of  one  of  the  farmers 
found  one  day  a  glittering  substance,  which,  on  being  examined, 
was  pronounced  silver  ore.  Brant  Van  Slechtenhorst  forth 
with  sent  his  son  from  Rensselaerswyck  to  explore  the 
mountains  in  quest  of  the  supposed  mines.  The  young  man 
put  up  in  the  farmer's  house,  which  had  recently  been  erected 
on  the  margin  of  a  mountain  stream.  Scarcely  was  he  housed 
when  a  furious  storm  burst  forth  on  the  mountains.  The 
thunders  rolled,  the  lightnings  flashed,  the  rain  came  down 
in  cataracts;  the  stream  was  suddenly  swollen  to  a  furious 
torrent  thirty  feet  deep ;  the  farmhouse  and  all  its  contents 
were  swept  away,  and  it  was  only  by  dint  of  excellent  swim 
ming  that  young  Slechtenhorst  saved  his  own  life  and  the 
lives  of  his  horses.  Shortly  after  this  a  feud  broke  out  be 
tween  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  the  Patroon  of  Rensselaerswyck 
on  account  of  the  right  and  title  to  the  Catskill  mountains, 
in  the  course  of  which  the  elder  Slechtenhorst  was  taken 
captive  by  the  Potentate  of  the  New  Netherlands  and  thrown 
in  prison  at  New  Amsterdam. 


266  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

In  July,  1832,  Irving  visited  for  the  first  time  the  scene  of  his 
story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He  writes  of  this  visit  to  his  brother 
Peter:  — 

" .  .  .  From  thence  we  took  steamboat,  and  in  a  few  hours 
were  landed  at  Catskill,  where  a  stage-coach  was  in  waiting,  and 
whirled  us  twelve  miles  up  among  the  mountains  to  a  fine 
hotel  built  on  the  very  brow  of  a  precipice  and  commanding 
one  of  the  finest  prospects  in  the  world.  We  remained  here 
until  the  next  day,  visiting  the  waterfall,  glen,  etc.,  that  are 
pointed  out  as  the  veritable  haunts  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  .  .  . 

".  .  .  The  wild  scenery  of  these  mountains  outdoes  all  my 
conception  of  it." 

" '  I  have  little  doubt/  writes  Peter  in  reply, '  but  some  curious 
travellers  will  yet  find  some  of  the  bones  of  his  dog,  if  they 
can  but  hit  upon  the  veritable  spot  of  his  long  sleep.' " 

—  LIFE  AND  LETTERS,  II,  p.  256. 

In  July  of  the  next  year,  Irving  repeated  the  curious  ex 
perience  of  localizing  his  own  imaginary  scenes.  On  his  way 
down  the  river  he  passed  a  day  in  the  neighborhood  of  Kingston, 
and  explored  for  the  first  time  the  old  Dutch  villages  there  and 
the  scenes  of  his  story. 

—  LIFE  AND  LETTERS,  II,  p.  280. 


RIP  VAN   WINKLE 

A  POSTHUMOUS  WRITING  OF  DIEDRICH  KNICKER 
BOCKER 

By  Woden,  God  of  Saxons, 

From  whence  comes  Wensday,  that  is  Wodensday. 

Truth  is  a  thing  that  ever  I  will  keep 

Unto  thylke  day  in  which  I  creep  into 

My  sepulchre —  CARTWRIGHT. 

[The  following  Tale  was  found  among  the  papers  of  the  late  Died' 
rich  Knickerbocker,  an  old  gentleman  of  New  York,  who  was  very 
curious  in  the  Dutch  history  of  the  province,  and  the  manners  of  the 
descendants  from  its  primitive  settlers.  His  historical  researches, 
however,  did  not  lie  so  much  among  books  as  among  men ;  for  the 
former  are  lamentably  scanty  on  his  favorite  topics ;  whereas  he  found 
the  old  burghers,  and  still  more  their  wives,  rich  in  that  legendary 
lore  so  invaluable  to  true  history.  Whenever,  therefore,  he  happened 
upon  a  genuine  Dutch  family,  snugly  shut  up  in  its  low-roofed  farm 
house,  under  a  spreading  sycamore,  he  looked  upon  it  as  a  little 
elapsed  volume  of  black-letter,  and  studied  it  with  the  zeal  of  a  book 
worm. 

The  result  of  all  these  researches  was  a  history  of  the  province  dur 
ing  the  reign  of  the  Dutch  governors,  which  he  published  some  years 
since.  There  have  been  various  opinions  as  to  the  literary  character 
of  his  work,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  a  whit  better  than  it  should 
be.  Its  chief  merit  is  its  scrupulous  accuracy,  which  indeed  was  a 
little  questioned  on  its  first  appearance,  but  has  since  been  completely 
established ;  and  is  now  admitted  into  all  historical  collections  as  a 
book  of  unquestionable  authority. 

The  old  gentleman  died  shortly  after  the  publication  of  his  work  ; 
and  now  that  he  is  dead  and  gone,  it  cannot  do  much  harm  to  his 
memory  to  say  that  his  time  might  have  been  much  better  employed 
in  weightier  labors.  He,  however,  was  apt  to  ride  his  hobby  his 
own  way ;  and  though  it  did  now  and  then  kick  up  the  dust  a  little 
in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors,  and  grieve  the  spirit  of  some  friends,  for 
whom  he  felt  the  truest  deference  and  affection,  yet  his  errors  and 
follies  are  remembered  "more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  and  it 
begins  to  be  suspected  that  he  never  intended  to  injure  or  offend. 
But  however  his  memory  may  be  appreciated  by  critics,  it  is  still 
held  dear  by  many  folks  whose  good  opinion  is  well  worth  having; 
particularly  by  certain  biscuit-bakers,  who  have  gone  so  far  as  to  im 
print  his  likeness  on  their  New-Year  cakes ;  and  have  thus  given  him 
a  chance  for  immortality,  almost  equal  to  the  being  stamped  on  a 
Waterloo  Medal,  or  a  Queen  Anne's  Farthing.] 

1.  Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  must  re 
member  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  They  are  a  dismembered 

267 


268  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

branch  of  the  great  Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen  away  to 
the  west  of  the  river,  swelling  up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lord 
ing  it  over  the  surrounding  country.  Every  change  of  season, 
every  change  of  weather,  indeed,  every  hour  of  the  day,  pro 
duces  some  change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of  these 
mountains,  and  they  are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far 
and  near,  as  perfect  barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair 
and  settled,  they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print 
their  bold  outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky ;  but  sometimes, 
when  the  rest  of  the  landscape  is  cloudless,  they  will  gather 
a  hood  of  gray  vapors  about  their  summits,  which,  in  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  will  glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown 
of  glory. 

2.  At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager  may 
have  descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  from  a  village,  whose 
shingle-roofs  gleam  among  the  trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints 
of  the  upland  melt  away  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer 
landscape.     It  is  a  little  village,  of  great  antiquity,  having 
been  founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colonists  in  the  early 
times  of  the    province,   just    about  the    beginning   of    the 
government    of   the  good  Peter  Stuyvesant,   (may  he  rest 
in  peace  !)  and  there  were  some  of  the  houses  of  the  original 
settlers  standing  within  a  few  years,  built  of  small  yellow 
bricks  brought  from  Holland,  having  latticed  windows  and 
gable  fronts,  surmounted  with  weathercocks. 

3.  In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very  houses 
(which,  to  tell  the  precise  truth,  was  sadly  time-worn  and 
weather-beaten),   there  lived,  many  years  since,  while  the 
country  was  yet  a  province  of  Great  Britain,  a  simple,  good- 
natured  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.     He  was  a 
descendant  of  the  Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gallantly  in  the 
chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  accompanied  him  to 
the  siege  of  Fort  Christina.     He  inherited,  however,  but  little 
of  the  martial  character  of  his  ancestors.     I  have  observed 
that  he  was  a  simple,  good-natured  man ;  he  was,  moreover,  a 
kind  neighbor,  and  an  obedient,  hen-pecked  husband.     In 
deed,  to  the  latter  circumstance  might  be  owing  that  meek 
ness  of  spirit  which  gained  him  such  universal  popularity ;  for 


RIP    VAN    WINKLE 


269 


those  men  are  most  apt  to  be  obsequious  and  conciliating 
abroad,  who  are  under  the  discipline  of  shrews  at  home. 
Their  tempers,  doubtless,  are  rendered  pliant  and  malleable 
in  the  fiery  furnace  of  domestic  tribulation;  and  a  curtain- 


"HE  WAS  A  GREAT  FAVORITE  AMONG  ALL  THE  CHILDREN" 
From  a  drawing  by  F.  0.  C.  Darley 

lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for  teaching  the 
virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering.  A  termagant  wife 
may,  therefore,  in  some  respects,  be  considered  a  tolerable 
blessing ;  and  if  so,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 

4.  Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the 
good  wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with  the  amiable  sex, 
took  his  part  in  all  family  squabbles ;  and  never  failed,  when 
ever  they  talked  those  matters  over  in  their  evening  gossip- 
ings,  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The  children 
of  the  village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy  whenever  he  ap 
proached.  He  assisted  at  their  sports,  made  their  playthings, 


270  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

taught  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  marbles,  and  told  them 
long  stories  of  ghosts,  witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he 
went  dodging  about  the  village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a 
troop  of  them,  hanging  on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back, 
and  playing  a  thousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity;  and 
not  a  dog  would  bark  at  him  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

5.  The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable 
aversion  to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.     It  could  not  be  from 
the  want  of  assiduity  or  perseverance ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a 
wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and 
fish  all  day  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not 
be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.     He  would  carry  a  fowling- 
piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours  together,  trudging  through 
woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill  and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a 
few  squirrels  or  wild  pigeons.     He  would  never  refuse  to 
assist  a  neighbor  in  even  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost 
man  at  all  country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn,  or  building 
stone  fences ;  the  women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ 
him  to  run  their  errands,  and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their 
less  obliging  husbands  would  not  do  for  them.     In  a  word,  Rip 
was  ready  to  attend  to  anybody's  business  but  his  own ;  but 
as  to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his  farm  in  order,  he 
found  it  impossible. 

6.  In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on  his  farm ; 
it  was  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of  ground  in  the  whole 
country;    everything  about  it  went  wrong,  and  would  go 
wrong,  in  spite  of  him.     His  fences  were  continually  falling 
to  pieces ;   his  cow  would  either  go  astray,  or  get  among  the 
cabbages ;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow  quicker  in  his  fields  than 
anywhere  else ;  the  rain  always  made  a  point  of  setting  in  just 
as  he  had  some  out-door  work  to  do;    so  that  though  his 
patrimonial  estate  had  dwindled  away  under  his  management, 
acre  by  acre,  until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch 
of  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the  worst  conditioned 
farm  in  the  neighborhood. 

7.  His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if  they 
belonged  to  nobody.     His  son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in  his 
own  likeness,  promised  to  inherit  the  habits,  with  the  old 


RIP    VAN    WINKLE  271 

clothes,  of  his  father.  He  was  generally  seen  trooping  like  a 
colt  at  his  mother's  heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  father's 
cast-off  galligaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to  hold  up  with 
one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad  weather. 

8.  Rip  Van   Winkle,   however,   was  one   of-  those   happy 
mortals,  of  foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take  the  world 
easy,  eat  white  bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got  with 
least  thought  or  trouble,  and  would  rather  starve  on  a  penny 
than  work  for  a  pound.     If  left  to  himself,  he  would  have 
whistled  life  away  in  perfect  contentment ;  but  his  wife  kept 
continually  dinning  in  his  ears  about  his  idleness,  his  careless 
ness,  and  the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on  his  family.     Morning, 
noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was  incessantly  going,  and  every 
thing  he  said  or  did  was  sure  to  produce  a  torrent  of  household 
eloquence.     Rip  had  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of 
the  kind,  and  that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a  habit. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes, 
but  said  nothing.     This,  however,  always  provoked  a  fresh 
volley  from  his  wife ;  so  that  he  was  fain  to  draw  off  his  forces, 
and  take  to  the  outside  of  the  house  —  the  only  side  which, 
in  truth,  belongs  to  a  hen-pecked  husband. 

9.  Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf,  who  was 
as  much  hen-pecked  as  his  master;    for  Dame  Van  Winkle 
regarded  them  as  companions  in  idleness,  and  even  looked 
upon  Wolf  with  an  evil  eye,  as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going 
so  often  astray.     True  it  is,  in  all  points  of  spirit  befitting  an 
honorable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  animal  as  ever  scoured 
the  woods ;  but  what  courage  can  withstand  the  ever-during 
and  all- besetting  terrors  of  a  woman's  tongue  ?    The  moment 
Wolf  entered  the  house  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the 
ground,  or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a 
gallows  air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame  Van 
Winkle,  and  at  the  least  flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle  he 
would  fly  to  the  door  with  yelping  precipitation. 

10.  Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  as 
years  of  matrimony  rolled  on ;   a  tart  temper  never  mellows 
with  age,  and  a  sharp  tongue  is  the  only  edged  tool  that  grows 
keener  with  constant  use.      For  a  long  while   he   used   to 


272  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

console  himself,  when  driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a 
kind  of  perpetual  club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and  other 
idle  personages  of  the  village,  which  held  its  sessions  on  a 
bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund  portrait 
of  His  Majesty  George  the  Third.  Here  they  used  to  sit 
in  the  shade  through  a  long,  lazy  summer's  day,  talking  list 
lessly  over  village  gossip,  or  telling  endless  sleepy  stories  about 
nothing.  But  it  would  have  been  worth  any  statesman's 
money  to  have  heard  the  profound  discussions  that  sometimes 
took  place,  when  by  chance  an  old  newspaper  fell  into  their 
hands  from  some  passing  traveller.  How  solemnly  they 
would  listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawled  out  by  Derrick  Van 
Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  a  dapper  learned  little  man,  who 
was  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic  word  in  the  dic 
tionary;  and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate  upon  public 
events  some  months  after  they  had  taken  place. 

11.  The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  controlled 
by  Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village,  and  landlord  of 
the  inn,  at  the  door  of  which  he  took  his  seat  from  morning 
till  night,  just  moving  sufficiently  to  avoid  the  sun  and  keep 
in  the  shade  of  a  large  tree ;  so  that  the  neighbors  could  tell 
the  hour  by  his  movements  as  accurately  as  by  a  sun-dial.     It 
is  true  he  was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but  smoked  his  pipe  in 
cessantly.     His  adherents,  however  (for  every  great  man  has 
his  adherents),  perfectly  understood  him,  and  knew  how  to 
gather  his  opinions.     When  anything  that  was  read  or  related 
displeased  him,  he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently, 
and  to  send  forth  short,  frequent,  and  angry  puffs ;  but  when 
pleased,  he  would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly,  and 
emit  it  in  light  and  placid  clouds;    and  sometimes,  taking 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  letting  the  fragrant  vapor  curl 
about  his  nose,  would  gravely  nod  his  head  in  token  of  perfect 
approbation. 

12.  From  even  this  stronghold  the  unlucky  Rip  was  at 
length  routed  by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would  suddenly 
break  in  upon  the  tranquillity  of  the  assemblage  and  call  the 
members  all  to  naught;    nor  was  that  august  personage, 
Nicholas  Vedder  himself,  sacred  from  the  daring  tongue  of 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE  273 

this  terrible  virago,  who  charged  him  outright  with  encour 
aging  her  husband  in  habits  of  idleness. 

13.  Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair;   and 
his  only  alternative,  to  escape  from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and 
clamor  of  his  wife,  was  to  take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll  away 
into  the  woods.     Here  he  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  share  the  contents  of  his  wallet  with 
Wolf,  with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow-sufferer  in  per 
secution.     "Poor  Wolf,"  he   would  say,  "thy  mistress  leads 
thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but  never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst  I  live 
thou  shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand  by  thee!"    Wolf 
would  wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully  in  his  master's  face ;  and  if 
dogs  can  feel  pity,  I  verily  believe  he  reciprocated  the  senti 
ment  with  all  his  heart. 

14.  In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine  autumnal  day, 
Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest  parts 
of  the  Kaatskill  mountains.     He  was  after  his  favorite  sport 
of  squirrel-shooting,  and  the  still  solitudes  had  echoed  and 
reechoed  with  the  reports  of  his  gun.     Panting  and  fatigued, 
he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  green  knoll, 
covered  with  mountain  herbage,  that  crowned  the  brow  of  a 
precipice.     From  an  opening  between  the  trees  he  could  over 
look  all  the  lower  country  for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland. 
He  saw  at  a  distance  the  lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him, 
moving  on  its  silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of 
a  purple  cloud,  or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there 
sleeping  on  its  glassy  bosom,  and  at  last  losing  itself  in  the  blue 
highlands. 

15.  On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep  mountain 
glen,  wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with  frag 
ments  from  the  impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely  lighted  by  the 
reflected  rays  of  the  setting  sun.     For  some  time  Rip  lay 
musing  on  this  scene ;  evening  was  gradually  advancing ;  the 
mountains  began  to  throw  their  long  blue  shadows  over  the 
valleys ;   he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark  long  before  he  could 
reach   the    village,  and   he   heaved  a  heavy  sigh  when   he 
thought  of  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 

16.  As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a  voice. from  a 


274  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

distance,  hallooing,  "Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  Van  Winkle!" 
He  looked  round,  but  could  see  nothing  but  a  crow  winging 
its  solitary  flight  across  the  mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy 
must  have  deceived  him,  and  turned  again  to  descend,  when 
he  heard  the  same  cry  ring  through  the  still  evening  air : 
"Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  Van  Winkle!"-  — at  the  same  time 
Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and  giving  a  low  growl,  skulked  to 
his  master's  side,  looking  fearfully  down  into  the  glen.  Rip 
now  felt  a  vague  apprehension  stealing  over  him;  he  looked 
anxiously  in  the  same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange 
figure  slowly  toiling  up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the 
weight  of  something  he  carried  on  his  back.  He  was  surprised 
to  see  any  human  being  in  this  lonely  and  unfrequented  place ; 
but  supposing  it  to  be  some  one  of  the  neighborhood  in  need 
of  his  assistance,  he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

17.  On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  surprised  at  the 
singularity  of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He  was  a  short, 
square-built  old  fellow,  with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a  grizzled 
beard.  His  dress  was  of  the  antique  Dutch  fashion,  —  a 
cloth  jerkin  strapped  round  the  waist  —  several  pair  of 
breeches,  the  outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  with  rows 
of  buttons  down  the  sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees.  He  bore 
on  his  shoulder  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full  of  liquor,  and 
made  signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load. 
Though  rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this  new  acquaintance, 
Rip  complied  with  his  usual  alacrity ;  and  mutually  relieving 
one  another,  they  clambered  up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently 
the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent.  As  they  ascended,  Rip 
every  now  and  then  heard  long,  rolling  peals,  like  distant 
thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep  ravine,  or  rather 
cleft,  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which  their  rugged  path 
conducted.  He  paused  for  an  instant,  but  supposing  it  to 
be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those  transient  thunder-showers 
which  often  take  place  in  mountain  heights  he  proceeded. 
Passing  through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow  like  a 
small  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  perpendicular  precipices, 
over  the  brinks  of  which  impending  trees  shot  their  branches, 
so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the  azure  sky  and  the 


THE  GAME  OF  NINEPINS 


HIP   VAN   WINKLE  275 

bright  evening  cloud.  During  the  whole  time  Rip  and  his 
companion  had  labored  on  in  silence ;  for  though  the  former 
marvelled  greatly  what  could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a  keg 
of  liquor  up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there  was  something 
strange  and  incomprehensible  about  the  unknown,  that  in 
spired  awe  and  checked  familiarity. 

18.  On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  wonder 
presented  themselves.     On  a  level  spot  in  the  centre  was  a 
company   of   odd-looking   personages   playing   at  ninepins. 
They  were  dressed  in  a  quaint,  outlandish  fashion ;  some  wore 
short  doublets,  others  jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their  belts 
and  most  of  them  had  enormous  breeches,  of  similar  style 
with  that  of  the  guide's.     Their  visages,  too,  were  peculiar : 
one  had  a  large  beard,  broad  face,  and  small  piggish  eyes; 
the  face  of  another  seemed  to  consist  entirely  of  nose,  and  was 
surmounted  by  a  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  red  cock's 
tail.     They  all   had  beards,  of  various  shapes  and  colors. 
There  was  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  commander.     He  was  a 
stout  old  gentleman,  with  a  weather-beaten    countenance; 
he   wore    a   laced   doublet,   broad    belt   and    hanger,    high 
crowned   hat  and   feather,  red   stockings,  and   high-heeled 
shoes,,  with  roses  in  them.     The  whole  group  reminded  Rip 
of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the  parlor  of 
Dominie  Van  Shaick,  the  village  parson,  and  which  had  been 
brought  over  from  Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

19.  What    seemed    particularly   odd   to   Rip   was,    that, 
though  these  folks  were  evidently  amusing  themselves,  yet 
they  maintained   the   gravest   faces,   the   most  mysterious 
silence,   and  were,   withal,   the  most  melancholy  party  of 
pleasure  he  had  ever  witnessed.     Nothing  interrupted  the 
stillness  of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls,  which,  when 
ever  they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rum 
bling  peals  of  thunder. 

20.  As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they 
suddenly  desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him  with 
such  fixed,  statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth,  lack 
lustre  countenances,  that  his  heart  turned  within  him,  and 
his  knees  smote  together.     His  companion  now  emptied  the 


276  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

contents  of  the  keg  into  large  flagons,  and  made  signs  to  him 
to  wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear  and  trem 
bling;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound  silence,  and  then 
returned  to  their  game. 

21.  By  degrees  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided.     He 
even  ventured,  when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon  him,  to  taste  the 
beverage,  which  he  found  had  much  of  the  flavor  of  excellent 
Hollands.     He  was  naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon 
tempted  to  repeat  the  draught.     One  taste  provoked  another ; 
and  he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the  flagon  so  often  that  at  length 
his  senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes  swam  in  his  head,  his 
head  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

22.  On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll  whence 
he  had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the  glen.     He  rubbed  his 
eyes  —  it  was  a  bright  sunny  morning.    The  birds  were  hop 
ping  and  twittering  among  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was 
wheeling  aloft,   and   breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze. 
"Surely,"  thought  Rip,  "I  have  not  slept  here  all  night." 
He  recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell  asleep.     The  strange 
man  with  a  keg  of  liquor  —  the  mountain  ravine  —  the  wild 
retreat  among  the  rocks  —  the  woe-begone  party  at  ninepins 
—  the  flagon—     "Oh!  that  flagon!  that  wicked  flagon!" 
thought  Rip,  —  "what  excuse  shall  I  make  to  Dame  Van 
Winkle?" 

23.  He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the  clean, 
well-oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  firelock  lying  by  him, 
the  barrel  incrusted  with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off,  and  the 
stock  worm-eaten.     He  now  suspected  that  the  grave  roisters 
of  the  mountain  had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and,  having  dosed 
him  with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun.    Wolf,  too,  had 
disappeared,  but  he  might  have  strayed  away  after  a  squirrel 
or  partridge.     He  whistled  after  him,  and  shouted  his  name, 
but  all  in  vain ;  the  echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but 
no  dog  was  to  be  seen. 

24.  He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last  evening's 
gambol,  and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the  party,  to  demand  his 
dog  and  gun.     As  he  rose  to  walk,  he  found  himself  stiff  in  the 
joints,  and  wanting  in  his  usual  activity.     "These  mountain 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE 


277 


beds  do  not  agree  with  me,"  thought  Rip,  "and  if  this  frolic 
should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  I  shall  have  a 
blessed  time  with  Dame  Van  Winkle."  With  some  difficulty 
he  got  down  into  the  glen :  he  found  the  gully  up  which  he 
and  his  companion  had 
ascended  the  preceding 
evening;  but  to  his 
astonishment  a  moun 
tain  stream  was  now 
foaming  down  it,  leap 
ing  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  filling  the  glen  with 
babbling  murmurs.  He, 
however,  made  shift  to 
scramble  up  its  sides, 
working  his  toilsome 
way  through  thickets  of 
birch,  sassafras,  and 
witch-hazel,  and  some 
times  tripped  up  or  en 
tangled  by  the  wild 
grape-vines  that  twisted 
their  coils  or  tendrils 
from  tree  to  tree,  and 
spread  a  kind  of  net 
work  in  his  path. 

25.  At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had  opened 
through  the  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but  no  traces  of  such 
opening  remained.  The  rocks  presented  a  high,  impenetrable 
wall,  over  which  the  torrent  came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of 
feathery  foam,  and  fell  into  a  broad  deep  basin,  black  from 
the  shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then,  poor  Rip 
was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  called  and  whistled  after 
his  dog ;  he  was  only  answered  by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle 
crows,  sporting  high  in  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung 
a  sunny  precipice ;  and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed 
to  look  down  and  scoff  at  the  poor  man's  perplexities.  What 
was  to  be  done?  the  morning  was  passing  away,  and  Rip 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 
From  a  photograph  by  Sarony 


278  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

felt  famished  for  want  of  his  breakfast.  He  grieved  to  give 
up  his  dog  and  gun;  he  dreaded  to  meet  his  wife;  but  it 
would  not  do  to  starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook 
his  head,  shouldered  the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full 
of  trouble  and  anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

26.  As  he  approached  the  village   he  met  a  number   of 
people,  but  none  whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat  surprised 
him,  for  he  had  thought  himself  acquainted  with  every  one  in 
the  country  round.    Their  dress,  too,  was  of  a  different  fashion 
from  that  to  which  he  was  accustomed.     They  all  stared  at 
him  with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever  they  cast 
their  eyes  upon  him,  invariably  stroked  their  chins.     The 
constant  recurrence  of  this  gesture  induced  Rip,  involuntarily, 
to  do  the  same,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  found  his  beard 
had  grown  a  foot  long! 

27.  He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.     A  troop 
of  strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and 
pointing  at  his  gray  beard.     The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which 
he  recognized  for  an  old  acquaintance, 'barked  at  him  as  he 
passed.     The  very  village  was  altered ;  it  was  larger  and  more 
populous.     There  were  rows  of  houses  which  he  had  never 
seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been  his  familiar  haunts  had 
disappeared.     Strange  names  were  over  the  doors  —  strange 
faces  at  the  windows  —  everything  was  strange.     His  mind 
now  misgave  him ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he  and 
the  world  around  him  were  not  bewitched.   Surely  this  was  his 
native  village,  which  he  had  left  but  the  day  before.    There 
stood  the  Kaatskill  mountains  —  there  ran  the  silver  Hudson 
at  a  distance  —  there  was  every  hill  and  dale  precisely  as 
it  had  always  been.    Rip  was  sorely  perplexed.    "  That  flagon 
last  night/'  thought  he,  "has  addled  my  poor  head  sadly!" 

28.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way  to 
his  own  house,  which  he  approached  with  silent  awe,  expecting 
every  moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 
He  found  the  house  gone  to  decay  —  the  roof  fallen  in,  the 
windows  shattered,  and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.     A  half- 
starved  dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was  skulking  about  it. 
Rip  called  him  by  name,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed  his 


KIP  VAN   WINKLE 


279 


teeth,  and  passed  on.     This  was  an  unkind  cut  indeed.     "My 
very  dog/'  sighed  poor  Rip,  "has  forgotten  me!" 

29.  He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  Dame 
Van  Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order.  It  was  empty, 
forlorn,  and  apparently  abandoned.  This  desolateness  over- 


"MY  VERY  DOG  HAS  FORGOTTEN  ME!  " 

From  a  drawing  by  F.  O.  C.  Darley 

came  all  his  connubial  fears  —  he  called  loudly  for  his  wife 
and  children  —  the  lonely  chambers  rang  for  a  moment  with 
his  voice,  and  then  all  again  was  silence. 

30.  He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort, 
the  village  inn  —  but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large  rickety 
wooden  building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great  gaping  windows, 
some  of  them  broken  and  mended  with  old  hats  and  petticoats, 
and  over  the  door  was  painted,  "  The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jona 
than  Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great  tree  that  used  to 
shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  was  reared 


280  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that  looked  like 
a  red  night-cap,  and  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which 
was  a  singular  assemblage  of  stars  and  stripes ;  —  all  this  was 
strange  and  incomprehensible.  He  recognized  on  the  sign, 
however,  the  ruby  face  of  King  George,  under  which  he  had 
smoked  So  many  a  peaceful  pipe ;  but  even  this  was  singularly 
metamorphosed.  The  red  coat  was  changed  for  one  of  blue 
and  buff,  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre, 
the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath 
was  painted  in  large  characters,  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 

31.  There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the  door, 
but  none  that  Rip  recollected.    The  very  character  of  the 
people  seemed  changed.    There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  dis 
putatious  tone  about  it,  instead  of  the  accustomed  phlegm 
and  drowsy  tranquillity.     He  looked  in  vain  for  the  sage 
Nicholas  Vedder,  with  his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fair 
long  pipe,  uttering  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  instead  of  idle 
speeches ;  or  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  forth  the 
contents  of  an  ancient  newspaper.     In  place  of  these,  a  lean, 
bilious-looking  fellow,  with  his  pockets  full  of  hand-bills, 
was  haranguing  vehemently  about  rights  of  citizens  — elec 
tions  —  members  of   congress  —  liberty  —  Bunker's  Hill  — • 
heroes  of  seventy-six  —  and  other  words,  which  were  a  per 
fect  Babylonish  jargon  to  the  bewildered  Van  Winkle. 

32.  The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long,  grizzled  beard, 
his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of 
women  and  children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  tavern-politicians.     They  crowded  round  him,  eyeing 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  great  curiosity.     The  orator 
bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly  aside,  inquired 
"On  which  side  he  voted?"    Rip  stared  in  vacant  stupidity. 
Another  short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  "Whether  he  was 
Federal  or  Democrat?"     Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  com 
prehend  the  question;  when  a  knowing,  self-important  old 
gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  putting  them  to  the  right  and  left  with  his  elbows 
as  he  passed,  and  planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE  281 

one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes 
and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very  soul, 
demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "What  brought  him  to  the 
election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his  heels; 
and  whether  he  meant  to  breed  a  riot  in  the  village?"  — 
"Alas!  gentlemen,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "I  am 
a  poor  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  subject 
of  the  King,  God  bless  him!" 

33.  Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  by-standers  —  "A 
tory !   a  tory !   a  spy !    a  refugee !   hustle  him !    away  with 
him ! "     It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important 
man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored  order ;  and,  having  assumed 
a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded  again  of  the  unknown 
culprit,  what  he  came  there  for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking? 
The  poor  man  humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  harm, 
but  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neighbors, 
who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"  Well  —  who  are  they  ?  —  name  them." 
Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "Where's 
Nicholas  Vedder?" 

34.  There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man 
replied,  in  a  thin  piping  voice,  "Nicholas  Vedder!  why,  he  is 
dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years !  "  There  was  a  wooden 
tombstone  in  the  churchyard  that  used  to  tell  all  about  him, 
but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 

"Where's  Brom  Butcher?" 

"Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the  war; 
some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point  — 
others  say  he  was  drowned  in  a  squall  at  the  foot  of  Antony's 
Nose.  I  don't  know  —  he  never  came  back  again." 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster?" 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great  militia  general,  and 
is  now  in  congress." 

35.  Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes 
in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone  in 
the  world.     Every  answer  puzzled  him  too,  by  treating  of 
such  enormous  lapses  of  time,  and  of  matters  which  he  could 
not  understand :    war  —  congress  —  Stony  Point  —  he  had 


282  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but  cried  out  in 
despair,  "Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van  Winkle?" 

"Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle!"  exclaimed  two  or  three,  "oh,  to 
be  sure !  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning  against  the 
tree." 

36.  Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  him 
self,  as  he  went  up  the  mountain;    apparently  as  lazy,  and 
certainly  as  ragged.     The  poor  fellow  was  now  completely 
confounded.     He  doubted  his  own  identity,  and  whether  he 
was  himself  or  another  man.     In  the  midst  of  his  bewilder 
ment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was,  and 
what  was  his  name. 

37.  "  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end ;  "  I'm  not 
myself  —  I'm   somebody   else  —  that's   me   yonder  —  no  — • 
that's  somebody  else  got  into  my  shoes  —  I  was  myself  last 
night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the  mountain,  and  they've  changed 
my  gun,  and  everything's  changed,  and  I'm  changed,  and  I 
can't  tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am !" 

38.  The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod, 
wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  fore 
heads.    There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun,  and 
keeping  the  old  fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at  the  very  sugges 
tion  of  which  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  retired 
with  some  precipitation.     At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh, 
comely  woman  pressed  through  the  throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the 
gray-bearded  man.      She  had  a  chubby  child   in  her  arms, 
which  frightened  at  his  looks,  began  to  cry.     "Hush,  Rip," 
cried  she,  "hush,  you  little  fool;    the  old  man  won't   hurt 
you."    The  name  of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone 
of  her  voice,  all  awakened  a  train  of  recollections   in   his 
mind.    "What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman?"  asked  he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"And  your  father's  name?" 

"Ah,  poor  man,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name,  but  it's 
twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun, 
and  never  has  been  heard  of  since,  —  his  dog  came  home  with 
out  him ;  but  whether  he  shot  himself,  or  was  carried  away 
by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 


KIP   VAN   WINKLE  283 

39.   Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask;  but  he  put  it 
with  a  faltering  voice : 


"I'M   NOT   MYSELF  —  THAT'S   ME   YONDER" 

From  a  engraving  by  R.  Westall,  R.  A. 

"Where's  your  mother?" 

"Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since;  she  broke  a 
bloodvessel  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New-England  peddler.-' 

40.  There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  intel 
ligence.  The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 
He  caught  his  daughter  and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "I  am 
your  father!"  cried  he  —  "Young  Rip  Van  Winkle  once  — 


284  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now !  —  Does  nobody  know  poor  Rip 
Van  Winkle?" 

41.  All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out 
from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  peering 
under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed,  "  Sure  enough ! 
it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — it  is  himself !     Welcome  home  again, 
old  neighbor.     Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty  long 
years?" 

42.  Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years 
had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night.     The  neighbors  stared 
when  they  heard  it;   some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each  other, 
and  put  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks :   and  the  self-impor 
tant  man  in  the  cocked  hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was  over, 
had  returned  to  the  field,  screwed  down  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  shook  his  head  —  upon  which  there  was  a  general 
shaking  of  the  head  throughout  the  assemblage. 

43.  It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old 
Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the 
road.     He  was  a  descendant  of  the  historian  of  that  name, 
who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest  accounts  of  the  province.     Peter 
was  the  most  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well  versed 
in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions  of  the  neighborhood. 
He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and  corroborated  his  story  in  the 
most  satisfactory  manner.     He  assured  the  company  that 
it  was  a  fact,  handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the  historian, 
that  the  Kaatskill  mountains  had  always  been  haunted  by 
strange  beings.     That  it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendrick 
Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a 
kind  of  vigil  there  every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of  the 
Half-moon ;  being  permitted  in  this  way  to  revisit  the  scenes 
of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the  river  and 
the  great  city  called  by  his  name.     That  his  father  had  once 
seen  them  in  their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  ninepins  in  a 
hollow  of  the  mountain ;  and  that  he  himself  had  heard,  one 
summer  afternoon,  the  sound  of  their  balls,  like  distant  peals 
of  thunder. 

44.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up 
and  returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  elec- 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE  285 

tion.  Rip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live  with  her;  she 
had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and  a  stout,  cheery  farmer 
for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  recollected  for  one  of  the  urchins 
that  used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's  son  and  heir, 
who  was  the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree, 
he  was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm ;  but  evinced  an  heredi 
tary  disposition  to  attend  to  anything  else  but  his  business. 

45.  Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits;   he  soon 
found  many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse 
for  the  wear  and  tear  of  time ;  and  preferred  making  friends 
among  the  rising  generation,  with  whom  he  soon  grew  into 
great  favor. 

46.  Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at 
that  happy  age  when  a  man  can  be  idle  with  impunity,  he  took 
his  place  once  more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn-door,  and  was 
reverenced  as  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chron 
icle  of  the  old  times  "before  the  war."     It  was  some  time 
before  he  could  get  into  the  regular  track  of  gossip,  or  could 
be  made  to  comprehend  the  strange  events  that  had  taken 
place  during  his  torpor.     How  that  there  had  been  a  revolu 
tionary  war,  —  that  the  country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of 
old  England,  —  and  that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his 
Majesty  George  the  Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the 
United  States.    Rip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician ;  the  changes  of 
states  and  empires  made  but  little  impression  on  him;   but 
there  was  one  species  of  despotism  under  which  he  had  long 
groaned,  and  that  was  —  petticoat  government.     Happily 
that  was  at  an  end ;   he  had  got  his  neck  out  of  the  yoke  of 
matrimony,  and  could  go  in  and  out  whenever  he  pleased 
without  dreading  the  tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.     When 
ever  her  name  was  mentioned,  however,  he  shook  his  head, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  cast  up  his  eyes;   which  might 
pass  either  for  an  expression  of  resignation  to  his  fate,  or  joy 
at  his  deliverance. 

47.  He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived 
at  Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.     He  was  observed,  at  first,  to  vary 
on  some  points  every  time  he  told  it,  which  was,  doubtless, 
owing  to  his  having  so  recently  awaked.     It  at  last  settled 


286  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

down  precisely  to  the  tale  I  have  related,  and  not  a  man, 
woman,  or  child  in  the  neighborhood  but  knew  it  by  heart. 
Some  always  pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it,  and  insisted 
that  Rip  had  been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was  one  point 
on  which  he  always  remained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch  inhabit 
ants,  however,  almost  universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even 
to  this  day  they  never  hear  a  thunder-storm  of  a  summer 
afternoon  about  the  Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson 
and  his  crew  are  at  their  game  of  ninepins ;  and  it  is  a  com 
mon  wish  of  all  hen-pecked  husbands  in  the  neighborhood, 
when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands,  that  they  might  have  a 
quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van  Winkle's  flagon. 

NOTE 

The  foregoing  Tale,  one  would  suspect,  had  been  suggested  to  Mr. 
Knickerbocker  by  a  little  German  superstition  about  the  Emperor 
Frederick  der  Rothbart,  and  the  Kypphauser  mountain  :  the  subjoined 
note,  however,  which  he  had  appended  to  the  tale,  shows  that  it  is 
an  absolute  fact,  narrated  with  his  usual  fidelity. 

"The  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  may  seem  incredible  to  many,  but 
nevertheless  I  give  it  my  full  belief,  for  I  know  the  vicinity  of  our  old 
Dutch  settlements  to  have  been  very  subject  to  marvellous  events 
and  appearances.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  many  stranger  stories  than 
this,  in  the  villages  along  the  Hudson ;  all  of  which  were  too  well 
authenticated  to  admit  of  a  doubt.  I  have  even  talked  with  Rip  Van 
Winkle  myself,  who,  when  last  I  saw  him,  was  a  very  venerable  old 
man,  and  so  perfectly  rational  and  consistent  on  every  other  point, 
that  I  think  no  conscientious  person  could  refuse  to  take  this  into  the 
bargain;  nay,  I  have  seen  a  certificate  on  the  subject  taken  before 
a  country  justice  and  signed  with  a  cross,  in  the  justice's  own  hand 
writing.  The  story,  therefore,  is  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt. 

"D.  K." 

POSTSCRIPT 

The  following  are  travelling  notes  from  a  memorandum-book  of 
Mr.  Knickerbocker. 

The  Kaatsberg,  or  Catskill  Mountains,  have  always  been  a  region 
full  of  fable.  The  Indians  considered  them  the  abode  of  spirits, 
who  influenced  the  weather,  spreading  sunshine  or  clouds  over  the 
landscape,  and  sending  good  or  bad  hunting-seasons.  They  were 
ruled  by  an  old  squaw  spirit,  said  to  be  their  mother.  She  dwelt 
on  the  highest  peak  of  the  Catskills,  and  had  charge  of  the  doors  of 
day  and  night  to  open  and  shut  them  at  the  proper  hour.  She  hung 
up  the  new  moons  in  the  skies,  and  cut  up  the  old  ones  into  stars.  In 
times  of  drought,  if  properly  propitiated,  she  would  spin  light  summer 
clouds  out  of  cobwebs  and  morning  dew,  and  send  them  off  from 
the  crest  of  the  mountain,  flake  after  flake,  likes  flakes  of  carded 


KIP    VAN    WINKLE  287 

cotton,  to  float  in  the  air ;  until,  dissolved  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  they 
would  fall  in  gentle  showers,  causing  the  grass  to  spring,  the  fruits  to 
ripen,  and  the  corn  to  grow  an  inch  an  hour.  If  displeased,  however, 
she  would  brew  up  clouds  black  as  ink,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  them  like 
a  bottle-bellied  spider  in  the  midst  of  its  web ;  and  when  these  clouds 
broke,  woe  betide  the  valleys  ! 

In  old  times,  say  the  Indian  traditions,  there  was  a  kind  of  Manitou 
or  Spirit,  who  kept  about  the  wildest  recesses  of  the  Catskill  Moun 
tains,  and  took  a  mischievous  pleasure  in  wreaking  all  kinds  of  evils 
and  vexations  upon  the  red  men.  Sometimes  he  would  assume  the 
form  of  a  bear,  a  panther,  or  a  deer,  lead  the  bewildered  hunter  a 
weary  chase  through  tangled  forests  and  among  ragged  rocks;  and 
then  spring  off  with  a  loud  ho  !  ho  !  leaving  him  aghast  on  the  brink 
of  a  beetling  precipice  or  raging  torrent. 

The  favorite  abode  of  this  Manitou  is  still  shown.  It  is  a  great 
rock  or  cliff  on  the  loneliest  part  of  the  mountains,  and,  from  the 
flowering  vines  which  clamber  about  it,  and  the  wild  flowers  which 
abound  in  its  neighborhood,  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  Garden 
Rock.  Near  the  foot  of  it  is  a  small  lake,  the  haunt  of  the  solitary 
bittern,  with  water-snakes  basking  in  the  sun  on  the  leaves  of  the 
pond-lilies  which  lie  on  the  surface.  This  place  was  held  in  great  awe 
by  the  Indians,  insomuch  that  the  boldest  hunter  would  not  pursue 
his  game  within  its  precincts.  Once  upon  a  time,  however,  a  hunter 
who  had  lost  his  way,  penetrated  to  the  Garden  Rock,  where  he  beheld 
a  number  of  gourds  placed  in  the  crotches  of  trees.  One  of  these  he 
seized  and  made  off  with  it,  but  in  the  hurry  of  his  retreat  he  let  it 
fall  among  the  rocks,  when  a  great  stream  gushed  forth,  which  washed 
him  away  and  swept  him  down  precipices,  where  he  was  dashed  to 
pieces,  and  the  stream  made  its  way  to  the  Hudson,  and  continues 
to  flow  to  the  present  day ;  being  the  identical  stream  known  by  the 
name  of  Kaaters-kill. 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW 

PRELIMINARY  NOTE 

IRVING  says  of  this  story,  "It  is  a  random  thing  suggested 
by  recollections  of  scenes  and  stories  about  Tarrytown.  The 
story  is  a  mere  whimsical  band  to  connect  descriptions  of 
scenery,  customs,"  etc.  The  frame-work  of  the  story  was  sug 
gested  to  Irving  by  a  "waggish  fiction  of  one  Brom  Bones," 
who,  as  the  story  ran,  used  to  boast  "of  haying  once  met  the 
devil,  on  a  return  from  some  nocturnal  frolic,  and  run  a  race 
with  him  for  a  bowl  of  milk  punch."  The  schoolmaster  was 
drawn  from  a  living  original.  In  1817,  after  the  death  of  his 
fiancee,  Irving  went  to  Kinderhook  and  spent  two  months  with 
a  friend  of  the  family,  Judge  William  P.  Van  Ness.  In  this 
quaint  isolated  village,  he  found  Jesse  Merwin  and  an  old-fash 
ioned  school.  For  the  rest,  local  traditions  of  the  headless 
horseman  and  intimate  knowledge  from  boyhood  of  the  region 
lying  between  Sleepy  Hollow  and  the  Tappan  Zee,  furnished 
forth  the  author.  In  a  few  hours  he  scribbled  off  the  first  draft 
of  his  renowned  story  and  immediately  read  it  to  his  sister 
and  to  the  brother-in-law  who  had  given  the  suggestion.  The 
story  was  written,  and  afterwards  expanded,  in  England,  far 
from  the  scenes  described,  but  they  were  imprinted  upon  a 
faithful  memory,  and  the  printed  page  calls  up  the  most  vivid 
pictures  of  the  natural  features  of  the  land  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  Dutch  church  in  Sleepy  Hol 
low,  local  authorities  believe  that  Jesse  Merwin  originally  pre 
sided  over  the  sturdy  little  Dutch  urchins  that  flocked  to  the 
log  schoolhouse,  with  the  birch  tree  conveniently  near.  They 
tteny  the  description  of  Ichabod,  however,  and  assert  that  the 
real  schoolmaster  who  fled  to  Kinderhook,  and  there  lived  out 
his  days,  was  stout  and  ruddy  after  the  manner  of  his  race. 

A  letter  received  in  1851,  was  indorsed  in  Irving's  own  hand, 
"From  Jesse  Merwin,  the  original  of  Ichabod  Crane."  Irving's 
reply  is  full  of  interest  and  may  be  found  in  "  Life  and  Letters," 
III,  pp.  186-187. 

The  story  of  the  Headless  Horseman  is  an  old  one  and  has 
taken  on  many  forms  and  been  localized  in  many  different 
regions.  In  Germany,  he  is  the  "Wild  Huntsman,"  who  was 
originally  no  other  than  Wuotan. 

The  description  of  Ichabod's  ride  suggests  the  ride  of  Tarn 
O'Shanter  when  his  gray  Meg  "skelpit  on  through  dub  and 
mire,  to  gain  the  keystone  of  the  brig,  for  a  running  stream 

288 


STUDY   OF   THE   LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW      289 


they  dare  not  cross."  The  Scotsman  crooned  an  auld  Scot's 
sonnet;  the  schoolmaster  whistled,  or  broke  into  a  psalm  tune. 
Every  stone  and  ford,  or  whin,  or  cairn  along  poor  Tarn's  path 
had  its  own  lurking  ghaist  or  bogie,  and  his  beast  stood  right 
sair  astonished,  till  by  hand  and  heel  admonished,  she  ventured 
forward.  Ichabod  saw  no  dance  of  the  witches,  but  his  excited 
fancy  peopled  the  shadows  along  the  way  and  turned  the 
soughing  of  the  wind,  or  the  rubbing  of  one  bough  upon  another, 
into  sighs  and  groans.  In  the  end,  Tarn  bestrode  the  middle 
of  the  stream  in  the  very  moment  of  greatest  peril  and  so  was 
safe;  but  alas,  for  Ichabod!  the  headless  demon  on  his  trail 
knew  nothing  of  the  old  prohibition,  and  so  misfortune  befell 
him.  D. 


'HUDSON  RIVER 
MAP  OF  TARRYTOWN 

Dark  lines  represent  old  roads  (18th  century). 
Light  lines  represent  new  roads  (19th  century). 
Dotted  lines  represent  private  roads. 

The  figures  denote  the  sites  of  interest  as  follows  :  — 

1.  Old  Manor  House  (  "  Filypse's  Castle  "  ). 

2.  Old  Grain  Mill,  built  about  1683-4. 

3.  Old  Dutch  Church  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

4.  Site  of  Ancient  Saw  Mill. 

5.  Site  of  Sleepy  Hollow  Schoolhouse. 

6.  David's  House,  visited  by  Washington. 

7.  The  Andre  Captors'  Monument. 

8.  Site  of  Old  Mott  House  (Katrina  Van  Tassel's). 

9.  Site  of  Couenhoven  House,  afterwards  Martin  Smith's  Tavern. 

10.  "  Tommy  "  Dean's  Store  and  other  Old  Houses. 

11.  Westchester  County  Savings  Bank. 

12.  Herrick's  Castle.     Now  used  as  a  School. 

13.  Christ  Church,  of  which  Mr.  Irving  was  a  Warden. 

14.  Old  Martling  House. 

15.  Site  of  Paulding  and  Martling  Houses. 
16-17.   Eevolutionary  Redoubts. 


290  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  SPELL  PREVAILING  IN  THE  VALE  OF 
THE  POCANTICO 

The  eastern  shore  of  Tappan  Sea  was  inhabited  in  those 
days  by  an  unsophisticated  race  existing  in  all  the  simplicity 
of  nature ;  that  is  to  say,  they  lived  by  hunting  and  fishing, 
and  recreated  themselves  occasionally  with  a  little  tomahawk-  ' 
ing  and  scalping.  Each  stream  that  flows  down  from  the 
hills  into  the  Hudson  had  its  petty  sachem,  who  ruled  over 
a  hand-breadth  of  forest  on  either  side,  and  had  his  seat  of 
government  at  its  mouth.  The  sachem  who  ruled  at  the  Roost 
had  a  great  passion  for  discussing  territorial  questions  and 
settling  boundary  lines.  This  kept  him  in  continual  feud 
with  the  neighboring  sachems,  each  of  whom  stood  up  stoutly 
for  his  hand-breadth  of  territory ;  so  that  there  is  not  a  petty 
stream  or  rugged  hill  in  the  neighborhood  that  has  not  been 
the  subject  of  long  talks  and  hard  battles.  With  the  powerful 
sachem  of  O-sin-sing  the  struggle  was  particularly  long  and 
bitter,  but  in  the  end  the  sachem  of  the  Roost  was  victorious. 
He  was  not  merely  a  great  warrior  but  a  medicine  man,  or 
prophet,  or  conjuror,  as  well,  and  Indian  tradition  has  it  that 
in  extremity  he  resorted  to  a  powerful  medicine  or  charm  by 
which  he  laid  the  sachem  of  Sing  Sing  and  his  warriors  asleep 
among  the  rocks  and  recesses  of  the  valleys,  where  they  re 
main  asleep  to  the  present  day,  with  their  bows  and  war  clubs 
beside  them.  This  was  the  origin  of  that  potent  and  drowsy 
spell  which  still  prevails  over  the  valley  of  the  Pocantico  and 
which  has  gained  it  the  well-merited  appellation  of  Sleepy 
Hollow.  Often  in  secluded  and  quiet  parts  of  that  valley, 
where  the  stream  is  over-hung  by  dark  woods  and  rocks,  the 
ploughman  on  some  calm  and  sunny  day,  as  he  shouts  to  his 
oxen,  is  surprised  at  hearing  faint  shouts  from  the  hillsides  in 
reply;  being,  it  is  said,  the  spell-bound  warriors,  who  half 
start  from  their  rocky  couches  and  grasp  their  weapons,  but 
sink  to  sleep  again. 

Condensed  from  WOLFERT'S  ROOST,  and  given  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  the  words  of  the  author.     H.  A.  D. 


SLEEPY   HOLLOW  291 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW  1 

The  Roost  stood  in  the  very  heart  of  what  at  that  time  was 
called  the  debatable  ground,  lying  between  the  British  and 
American  lines.  The  British  held  possession  of  the  city  and 
island  of  New  York;  while  the  Americans  drew  up  towards 
the  Highlands,  holding  their  headquarters  at  Peekskill.  The 
intervening  country  from  Croton  River  to  Spiting  Devil 
Creek  was  the  debatable  ground  in  question,  liable  to  be 
harried  by  friend  and  foe,  like  the  Scottish  borders  of  yore. 

It  is  a  rugged  region,  full  of  fastnesses.  A  line  of  rocky 
hills  extends  through  it  like  a  backbone,  sending  out  ribs  on 
either  side ;  but  these  rude  hills  are  for  the  most  part  richly 
wooded,  and  enclose  little  fresh  pastoral  valleys  watered  by 
the  Neperan,  the  Pocantico,  and  other  beautiful  streams, 
along  which  the  Indians  built  their  wigwams  in  the  olden 
time. 

In  the  fastnesses  of  these  hills,  and  along  these  valleys,  ex 
isted  in  the  time  of  which  I  am  treating,  and  indeed  exist  to 
the  present  day,  a  race  of  hard-headed,  hard-handed,  stout 
hearted  yeomen,  descendants  of  the  primitive  Nederlanders. 
Men  obstinately  attached  to  the  soil,  and  neither  to  be  fought 
nor  bought  out  of  their  paternal  acres.  Most  of  them  were 
strong  Whigs  throughout  the  war ;  some,  however,  were 
Tories,  or  adherents  to  the  old  kingly  rule,  who  considered 
the  revolution  a  mere  rebellion,  soon  to  be  put  down  by  his 
Majesty's  forces.  A  number  of  these  took  refuge  within  the 
British  lines,  joined  the  military  bands  of  refugees,  and 
become  pioneers  or  leaders  to  foraging  parties  sent  out  from 
New  York  to  scour  the  country  and  sweep  off  supplies  for  the 
British  army. 

In  a  little  while  the  debatable  ground  became  infested  by 
roving  bands,  claiming  from  either  side,  arid  all  pretending  to 
redress  wrongs  and  punish  political  offences ;  but  all  prone  in 
the  exercise  of  their  high  functions  —  to  sack  hen-roosts, 
drive  off  cattle,  and  lay  farmhouses  under  contribution ;  such 
was  the  origin  of  two  great  orders  of  border  chivalry,  the 

1  Irving  uses  the  phrase  "  Rough  riders  "  of  "  Brom  Bones  and  his 
gang  "in  paragraph  31.  The  descriptions  in  26  seem  reminiscent  of 
the  confederacy  of  yeomen  formed  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Roost 
to  suppress  the  Skinners  and  the  Cow  Boys. 


292  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

Skinners  and  the  Cow  Boys,  famous  in  revolutionary  story: 
the  former  fought,  or  rather  marauded,  under  the  American, 
the  latter,  under  the  British  banner.  In  the  zeal  of  service, 
both  were  apt  to  make  blunders,  and  confound  the  property 
of  friend  and  foe.  Neither  of  them  in  the  heat  and  hurry  of 
a  foray  had  time  to  ascertain  the  politics  of  a  horse  or  cow, 
which  they  were  driving  off  into  captivity;  nor,  when  they 
wrung  the  neck  of  a  rooster,  did  they  trouble  their  heads 
whether  he  crowed  for  Congress  or  King  George. 

To  check  these  enormities,  a  confederacy  was  formed  among 
the  yeomanry  who  had  suffered  from  these  maraudings.  It 
was  composed  for  the  most  part  of  farmers'  sons,  bold,  hard- 
riding  lads,  well  armed,  and  well  mounted,  and  undertook  to 
clear  the  country  round  of  Skinner  and  Cow  Boy,  and  all 
other  border  vermin,  as  the  Holy  Brotherhood  in  old  times 
cleared  Spain  of  the  banditti  which  infested  her  highways. 

Wolfert's  Roost  was  one  of  the  rallying  places  of  this  con 
federacy,  and  Jacob  Van  Tassel  one  of  its  members.  He  was 
eminently  fitted  for  the  service ;  stout  of  frame,  bold  of  heart, 
and  like  his  predecessor,  the  warrior  sachem  of  yore,  delight 
ing  in  daring  enterprises.  He  had  an  Indian's  sagacity  in 
discovering  when  the  enemy  was  on  the  maraud,  and  in  hear 
ing  the  distant  tramp  of  cattle.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  a 
scout  on  every  hill,  and  an  ear  as  quick  as  that  of  Fine  Ear 
in  the  fairy  tale. 

The  foraging  parties  of  Tories  and  refugees  had  now  to  be 
secret  and  sudden  in  their  forays  into  Westchester  County; 
to  make  a  hasty  maraud  among  the  farms,  sweep  the  cattle 
into  a  drove,  and  hurry  down  to  the  lines  along  the  river  road, 
or  the  valley  of  the  Neperan.  Before  they  were  half-way 
down,  Jacob  Van  Tassel,  with  the  holy  brotherhood  of  Tarry- 
town,  Petticoat  Lane,  and  Sleepy  Hollow,  would  be  clattering 
at  their  heels.  And  now  there  would  be  a  general  scamper 
for  King's  Bridge,  the  pass  over  Spiting  Devil  Creek,  into  the 
British  lines.  Sometimes  the  moss-troopers  would  be  over 
taken,  and  eased  of  part  of  their  booty.  Sometimes  the 
whole  cavalgada  would  urge  its  headlong  course  across  the 
bridge  with  thundering  tramp  and  dusty  whirlwind.  At  such 
times  their  pursuers  would  rein  up  their  steeds,  survey  that 
perilous  pass  with  wary  eye,  and,  wheeling  about,  indemnify 
themselves  by  foraging  the  refugee  region  of  Morrisania. 

While  the  debatable  land  was  liable  to  be  thus  harried, 


SLEEPY   HOLLOW  293 

the  £reat  Tappan  Sea,  along  which  it  extends,  was  likewise 
domineered  over  by  the  foe.  British  ships  of  war  were  an 
chored  here  and  there  in  the  wide  expanses  of  the  river,  mere 
floating  castles  to  hold  it  in  subjection.  Stout  galleys  armed 
with  eighteen  pounders,  and  navigated  with  sails  and  oars, 
cruised  about  like  hawks,  while  row-boats  made  descents 
upon  the  land,  and  foraged  the  country  along  shore. 

It  was  a  sore  grievance  to  the  yeomanry  along  the  Tappan 
Sea  to  behold  that  little  Mediterranean  ploughed  by  hostile 
prows,  and  the  noble  river  of  which  they  were  so  proud 
reduced  to  a  state  of  thraldom.  Councils  of  war  were  held 
by  captains  of  market-boats  and  other  river-craft,  to  devise 
ways  and  means  of  dislodging  the  enemy.  Here  and  there 
on  a  point  of  land  extending  into  the  Tappan  Sea,  a  mud 
work  would  be  thrown  up,  and  an  old  field-piece  mounted, 
with  which  a  knot  of  rustic  artillerymen  would  fire  away  for 
a  long  summer's  day  at  some  frigate  dozing  at  anchor  far  out 
of  reach;  and  reliques  of  such  works  may  still  be  seen  over 
grown  with  weeds  and  brambles,  with  peradventure  the  half- 
buried  fragment  of  a  cannon  which  may  have  burst. 

Jacob  Van  Tassel  was  a  prominent  man  in  these  belligerent 
operations ;  but  he  was  prone,  moreover,  to  carry  on  a  petty 
warfare  of  his  own  for  his  individual  recreation  and  refresh 
ment.  On  a  row  of  hooks  above  the  fireplace  of  the  Roost, 
reposed  his  great  piece  of  ordnance,  —  a  duck,  or  rather  goose- 

fun,  of  unparalleled  longitude,  with  which  it  was  said  he  could 
ill  a  wild  goose  half  way  across  the  Tappan  Sea.  Indeed, 
there  are  as  many  wonders  told  of  this  renowned  gun,  as  of 
the  enchanted  weapons  of  classic  story.  When  the  belligerent 
feeling  was  strong  upon  Jacob,  he  would  take  down  his  gun, 
sally  forth  alone,  and  prowl  along  shore,  dodging  behind 
rocks  and  trees,  watching  for  hours  together  any  ship  or  galley 
at  anchor  or  becalmed,  as  a  valorous  mouser  will  watch  a 
rat-hole.  So  sure  as  a  boat  approached  the  shore,  bang  went 
the  great  goose-gun,  sending  on  board  a  shower  of  slugs  and 
buck-shots;  and  away  scuttled  Jacob  Van  Tassel  through 
some  woody  ravine.  As  the  Roost  stood  in  a  lonely  situation, 
and  might  be  attacked,  he  guarded  against  surprise  by  making 
loop-holes  in  the  stone  walls,  through  which  to  fire  upon  an 
assailant.  His  wife  was  stout-hearted  as  himself,  and  could 
load  as  fast  as  he  could  fire ;  and  his  sister,  Nochie  Van  Wur* 
mer,  a  redoubtable  widow,  was  a  match,  as  he  said,  for  the 


294  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

stoutest  man  in  the  country.  Thus  garrisoned,  his  little 
castle,  was  fitted  to  stand  a  siege,  and  Jacob  was  the  man  to 
defend  it  to  the  last  charge  of  powder. 

In  the  process  of  time  the  Roost  became  one  of  the  secret 
stations,  or  lurking-places,  of  the  Water  Guard.  This  was  an 
aquatic  corps  in  the  pay  of  government,  organized  to  range 
the  waters  of  the  Hudson,  and  keep  watch  upon  the  move 
ments  of  the  enemy.  It  was  composed  of  nautical  men  of 
the  river,  and  hardy  youngsters  of  the  adjacent  country, 
expert  at  pulling  an  oar  or  handling  a  musket.  They  were 
provided  with  whale-boats,  long  and  sharp,  shaped  like 
canoes,  and  formed  to  lie  lightly  on  the  water,  and  be  rowed 
with  great  rapidity.  In  these  they  would  lurk  out  of  sight 
by  day,  in  nooks  and  bays,  and  behind  points  of  land,  keep 
ing  a  sharp  look-out  upon  the  British  ships,  and  giving  in 
telligence  to  head-quarters  of  any  extraordinary  movement. 
At  night  they  rowed  about  in  pairs,  pulling  quietly  along  with 
muffled  oars,  under  shadow  of  the  land,  or  gliding  like  spectres 
about  frigates  and  guard-ships  to  cut  off  any  boat  that  might 
be  sent  to  shore.  In  this  way  they  were  a  source  of  constant 
uneasiness  and  alarm  to  the  enemy. 

—  WOLFERT'S  ROOST,  pp.  13-18. 

SLEEPY  HOLLOW  REVISITED 

But  I  have  said  enough  of  the  good  old  times  of  my  youth 
ful  days;  let  me  speak  of  the  Hollow  as  I  found  it,  after  an 
absence  of  many  years,  when  it  was  kindly  given  me  once 
more  to  revisit  the  haunts  of  my  boyhood.  It  was  a  genial 
day  as  I  approached  that  fated  region.  The  warm  sunshine 
was  tempered  by  a  slight  haze,  so  as  to  give  a  dreamy  effect 
to  the  landscape.  Not  a  breath  of  air  shook  the  foliage. 
The  broad  Tappan  Sea  was  without  a  ripple,  and  the  sloops, 
with  drooping  sails,  slept  on  its  glassy  bosom.  Columns  of 
smoke,  from  burning  brushwrood,  rose  lazily  from  the  folds 
of  the  hills,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  slowly  ex 
panded  in  mid-air.  The  distant  lowing  of  a  cow,  or  the  noon 
tide  crowing  of  a  cock,  coming  faintly  to  the  ear,  seemed  to 
illustrate,  rather  than  disturb,  the  drowsy  quiet  of  the  scene. 

I  entered  the  Hollow  with  a  beating  heart.  Contrary  to 
my  apprehensions,  I  found  it  but  little  changed.  The  march 
of  intellect,  which  had  made  such  rapid  strides  along  every 


SLEEPY   HOLLOW  295 

river  and  highway,  had  not  yet,  apparently,  turned  down 
into  this  favored  valley.  Perhaps  the  wizard  spell  of  ancient 
days  still  reigned  over  the  place,  binding  up  the  faculties  of 
the  inhabitants  in  happy  contentment  with  things  as  they 
had  been  handed  down  to  them  from  yore.  There  were  the 
same  little  farms  and  farm-houses,  with  their  old  hats  for  the 
housekeeping  wren ;  their  stone  wells,  moss-covered  buckets, 
and  long  balancing-poles.  There  were  the  same  little  rills, 
whimpering  down  to  pay  their  tributes  to  the  Pocantico; 
while  that  wizard  stream  still  kept  on  its  course,  as  of  old, 
through  solemn  woodlands  and  fresh  green  meadows;  nor 
were  there  wanting  joyous  holiday  boys,  to  loiter  along  its 
banks,  as  I  had  done;  throw  their  pin-hooks  in  the  stream, 
or  launch  their  mimic  barks.  I  watched  them  with  a  kind  of 
melancholy  pleasure,  wondering  whether  they  were  under  the 
same  spell  of  the  fancy  that  once  rendered  this  valley  a  fairy 
land  to  me.  Alas!  alas!  to  me  everything  now  stood 
revealed  in  its  simple  reality.  The  echoes  no  longer  answered 
with  wizard  tongues;  the  dream  of  youth  was  at  an  end; 
the  spell  of  Sleepy  Hollow  was  broken ! 

—  BIOGRAPHIES  AND  MISCELLANIES,  pp.  434-435. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW 

FOUND  AMONG  THE   PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE   DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER 

A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy  head  it  was, 

Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye, 

And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
For  ever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky. 

—  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

1.  In  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  spacious  coves  which  indent 
the  eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  that  broad  expansion  of 
the  river  denominated  by  the  ancient  Dutch  navigators  the 
Tappan  Zee,  and  where  they  always  prudently  shortened 
sail,  and  implored  the  protection  of  St.  Nicholas  when  they 
crossed,  there  lies  a  small  market-town  or  rural  port,  which 
by  some  is  called  Greensburgh,  but  which  is  more  generally 
and  properly  known  by  the  name  of  Tarry  Town.    This  name 
was  given,  we  are  told,  in  former  days,  by  the  good  house 
wives  of  the  adjacent  country,  from  the  inveterate  propensity 
of  their  husbands  to  linger  about  the  village  tavern  on  market- 
days.     Be  that  as  it  may,  I  do  not  vouch  for  the  fact,  but 
merely  advert  to  it  for  the  sake  of  being  precise  and  authen 
tic.     Not  far  from  this  village,  perhaps  about  two  miles, 
there  is  a  little  valley,  or  rather  lap  of  land,  among  high  hills, 
which  is  one  of  the  quietest  places  in  the  whole  world.     A 
small  brook  glides  through  it,  with  just  murmur  enough  to  lull 
one  to  repose ;  and  the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail,  or  tapping 
of  a  woodpecker,  is  almost  the  only  sound  that  ever  breaks 
in  upon  the  uniform  tranquillity. 

2.  I  recollect  that,  when  a  stripling,  my  first  exploit  in 
squirrel-shooting  was  in  a  grove  of  tall  walnut-trees  that 
shades  one  side  of  the  valley.     I  had  wandered  into  it  at  noon 
time,  when  all  nature  is  peculiarly  quiet,  and  was  startled  by 
the  roar  of  my  own  gun,  as  it  broke  the  Sabbath  stillness 
around,  and  was  prolonged  and  reverberated  by  the  angry 
echoes.     If  ever  I  should  wish  for  a  retreat,  whither  I  might 

296 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW 


297 


steal  from  the  world  and  its  distractions,  and  dream  quietly 
away  the  remnant  of  a  troubled  life,  I  know  of  none  more 
promising  than  this  little  valley. 


TAPPAN  ZEE  AND  THE  SLEEPY  HOLLOW  CHURCH 

3.  From  the  listless  repose  of  the  place,  and  the  peculiar 
character  of  its  inhabitants,  who  are  descendants  from  the 
original  Dutch  settlers,  this  sequestered  glen  has  long  been 


298  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

known  by  the  name  of  SLEEPY  HOLLOW,  and  its  rustic  lads 
are  called  the  Sleepy  Hollow  Boys  throughout  all  the  neigh 
boring  country.  A  drowsy,  dreamy  influence  seems  to  hang 
over  the  land,  and  to  pervade  the  very  atmosphere.  Some 
say  that  the  place  was  bewitched  by  a  high  German  doctor, 
during  the  early  days  of  the  settlement ;  others,  that  an  old 
Indian  chief,  the  prophet  or  wizard  of  his  tribe,  held  his  pow 
wows  there  before  the  country  was  discovered  by  Master 
Hendrich  Hudson.  Certain  it  is,  the  place  still  continues 
under  the  sway  of  some  witching  power,  that  holds  a  spell 
over  the  minds  of  the  good  people,  causing  them  to  walk 
in  a  continual  reverie.  They  are  given  to  all  kinds  of 
marvellous  beliefs;  are  subject  to  trances  and  visions;  and 
frequently  see  strange  sights,  and  hear  music  and  voices  in 
the  air.  The  whole  neighborhood  abounds  with  local  tales, 
haunted  spots,  and  twilight  superstitions;  stars  shoot  and 
meteors  glare  oftener  across  the  valley  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  country,  and  the  nightmare,  with  her  whole  ninefold, 
seems  to  make  it  the  favorite  scene  of  her  gambols. 

4.  The  dominant  spirit,  however,  that  haunts  this  en 
chanted  region,  and  seems  to  be  commander-in-chief  of  all 
the  powers  of  the  air,  is  the  apparition  of  a  figure  on  horseback 
without  a  head.  It  is  said  by  some  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  Hes 
sian  trooper,  whose  head  had  been  carried  away  by  a  cannon- 
ball,  in  some  nameless  battle  during  the  Revolutionary  War, 
and  who  is  ever  and  anon  seen  by  the  country  folk,  hurrying 
along  in  the  gloom  of  night,  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
His  haunts  are  not  confined  to  the  valley,  but  extend  at  times 
to  the  adjacent  roads,  and  especially  to  the  vicinity  of  a  church 
at  no  great  distance.  Indeed  certain  of  the  most  authentic 
historians  of  those  parts,  who  have  been  careful  in  collecting 
and  collating  the  floating  facts  concerning  this  spectre,  allege 
that  the  body  of  the  trooper,  having  been  buried  in  the  church 
yard,  the  ghost  rides  forth  to  the  scene  of  battle  in  nightly 
quest  of  his  head ;  and  that  the  rushing  speed  with  which  he 
sometimes  passes  along  the  Hollow,  like  a  midnight  blast,  is 
owing  to  his  being  belated,  and  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the 
churchyard  before  day-break. 


THE   LEGEND    OF    SLEEPY    HOLLOW  299 

5.  Such  is  the  general  purport  of  this  legendary  super 
stition,  which  has  furnished  materials  for  many  a  wild  story 
in  that  region  of  shadows ;  and  the  spectre  is  known,  at  all 
the  country  firesides,  by  the  name  of  the  Headless  Horseman 
of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

6.  It  is  remarkable  that  the  visionary  propensity  I  have 
mentioned  is  not  confined  to  the  native  inhabitants  of  the 
valley,  but  is  unconsciously  imbibed  by  every  one  who  resides 
there  for  a  time.     However  wide  awake  they  may  have  been 
before  they  entered  that  sleepy  region,  they  are  sure,  in  a 
little  time,  to  inhale  the  witching  influence  of  the  air,  and 
begin  to  grow  imaginative,  to  dream  dreams,  and  see  appari 
tions. 

7.  I  mention  this  peaceful  spot  with  all  possible  laud ;  for 
it  is  in  such  little  retired  Dutch  valleys,  found  here  and  there 
embosomed  in  the  great  State  of  New  York,  that  population, 
manners,  and  customs  remain  fixed ;   while  the  great  torrent 
of  migration  and  improvement,  which  is  making  such  inces 
sant  changes  in  other  parts  of  this  restless  country,  sweeps  by 
them  unobserved.     They  are  like  those  little  nooks  of  still 
water  which  border  a  rapid  stream ;   where  we  may  see  the 
straw  and  bubble  riding  quietly  at  anchor,  or  slowly  revolving 
in  their  mimic  harbor,  undisturbed  by  the  rush  of  the  passing 
current.     Though  many  years  have  elapsed  since  I  trod  the 
drowsy  shades  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  yet  I  question  whether  I 
should  not  still  find  the  same  trees  and  the  same  families 
vegetating  in  its  sheltered  bosom. 

8.  In  this  by-place  of  nature,  there  abode,  in  a  remote 
period  of  American  history,  that  is  to  say,  some  thirty  years 
since,  a  worthy  wight  of  the  name  of  Ichabod  Crane;   who 
sojourned,  or,  as  he  expressed  it,  " tarried, "  in  Sleepy  Hol 
low,  for  the  purpose  of  instructing  the  children  of  the  vicinity. 
He  was  a  native  of  Connecticut,  a  State  which  supplies  the 
Union  with  pioneers  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for  the  forest,  and 
sends  forth  yearly  its  legions  of  frontier  woodsmen  and  country 
school-masters.     The  cognomen  of  Crane  was  not  inapplicable 
to  his  person.     He  was  tall,  but  exceedingly  lank,  with  narrow 
shoulders,  long  arms  and  legs,  hands  that  dangled  a  mile  out 


300  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  his  sleeves,  feet  that  might  have  served  for  shovels,  and 
his  whole  frame  most  loosely  hung  together.  His  head  was 
small,  and  flat  at  top,  with  huge  ears,  large  green  glassy 
eyes,  and  a  long  snipe  nose,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  weather 
cock  perched  upon  his  spindle  neck,  to  tell  which  way  the 
wind  blew.  To  see  him  striding  along  the  profile  of  a  hill  on 
a  windy  day,  with  his  clothes  bagging  and  fluttering  about 
him,  one  might  have  mistaken  him  for  the  genius  of  famine 
descending  upon  the  earth,  or  some  scarecrow  eloped  from  a 
cornfield. 

9.  His  school-house  was  a  low  building  of  one  large  room, 
rudely  constructed  of  logs ;  the  windows  partly  glazed,  and 
partly  patched  with  leaves  of  old  copy-books.     It  was  most 
ingeniously  secured  at  vacant  hours  by  a  withe  twisted  in  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  stakes  set  against  the  window-shutters ; 
so  that,  though  a  thief  might  get  in  with  perfect  ease,  he  would 
find  some  embarrassment  in  getting  out :  an  idea  most  prob 
ably  borrowed  by  the  architect,  Yost  Van  Houten,  from  the 
mystery  of  an  eel-pot.     The  school-house  stood  in  a  rather 
lonely  but  pleasant  situation,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  woody  hill, 
with  a  brook  running  close  by,  and  a  formidable  birch-tree 
growing  at  one  end  of  it.     From  hence  the  low  murmur  of  his 
pupils'  voices,  conning  over  their  lessons,  might  be  heard  in  a 
drowsy  summer's  day,  like  the  hum  of  a  beehive ;  interrupted 
now  and  then  by  the  authoritative  voice  of  the  master,  in 
the  tone  of  menace  or  command;   or,  peradventure,  by  the 
appalling  sound  of  the  birch,  as  he  urged  some  tardy  loiterer 
along  the  flowery  path  of  knowledge.     Truth  to  say,  he  was 
a  conscientious  man,  and  ever  bore  in  mind  the  golden  maxim, 
"Spare  the  rod   and   spoil   the    child."-— Ichabod   Crane's 
scholars  certainly  were  not  spoiled. 

10.  I  would  not  have  it  imagined,  however,  that  he  was 
one  of  those  cruel  potentates  of  the  school,  who  joy  in  the 
smart  of  their  subjects;  on  the  contrary,  he  adminstered  jus 
tice  with  discrimination  rather  than  severity,  taking  the  bur 
den  off  the  backs  of  the  weak,  and  laying  it  on  those  of  the 
strong.     Your  mere  puny  stripling,  that  winced  at  the  least 
flourish  of  the  rod,  was  passed  by  with  indulgence ;  but  the 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY  HOLLOW  301 

claims  of  justice  were  satisfied  by  inflicting  a  double  portion 
on  some  little,  tough,  wrong-headed,  broad-skirted  Dutch 
urchin,  who  sulked  and  swelled  and  grew  dogged  and  sullen 
beneath  the  birch.  All  this  he  called  "doing  his  duty"  by 
their  parents ;  and  he  never  inflicted  a  chastisement  without 
following  it  by  the  assurance,  so  consolatory  to  the  smarting 
urchin,  that  "he  would  remember  it,  and  thank  him  for  it 
the  longest  day  he  had  to  live." 


THE  SLEEPY  HOLLOW  SCHOOL 
From  the  engraving  by  Charles  O.  Murray 

11.  When  school-hours  were  over,  he  was  even  the  com 
panion  and  playmate  of  the  larger  boys ;  and  on  holiday  after 
noons  would  convoy  some  of  the  smaller  ones  home,  who  hap 
pened  to  have  pretty  sisters,  or  good  housewives  for  mothers, 
noted  for  the  comforts  of  the  cupboard.  Indeed  it  behooved 
him  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  his  pupils.  The  revenue  aris 
ing  from  his  school  was  small,  and  would  have  been  scarcely 
sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  daily  bread,  for  he  was  a  huge 
feeder,  and,  though  lank,  had  the  dilating  powers  of  an  ana 
conda;  but  to  help  out  his  maintenance,  he  was,  according 
to  country  custom  in  those  parts,  boarded  and  lodged  at  the 


302  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

houses  of  the  farmers,  whose  children  he  instructed.  With 
these  he  lived  successively  a  week  at  a  time ;  thus  going  the 
rounds  of  the  neighborhood,  with  all  his  worldly  effects  tied 
up  in  a  cotton  handkerchief. 

12.  That  all  this  might  not  be  too  onerous  on  the  purses 
of  his  rustic  patrons,  who  are  apt  to  consider  the  costs  of 
schooling   a   grievous   burden,    and   schoolmasters   as   mere 
drones,  he  had  various  way  of  rendering  himself  both  useful 
and  agreeable.     He  assisted  the  farmers  occasionally  in  the 
lighter  labors  of  their  farms ;  helped  to  make  hay ;  mended  the 
fences;  took  the  horses  to  water;  drove  the  cows  from  pas 
ture;  and  cut  wood  for  the  winter  fire.     He  laid  aside,  too, 
all  the  dominant  dignity  and  absolute  sway  with  which  he 
lorded  it  in  his  little  empire,  the  school,  and  became  wonder 
fully  gentle  and  ingratiating.     He  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of 
the    mothers,    by    petting    the     children,    particularly    the 
youngest ;  and  like  the  lion  bold,  which  whilom  so  magnani 
mously  the  lamb  did  hold,  he  would  sit  with  a  child  on  one. 
knee,  and  rock  a  cradle  with  his  foot  for  whole  hours  together. 

13.  In  addition  to  his  other  vocations,  he  was  the  singing- 
master  of  the  neighborhood,   and  picked  up  many  bright 
shillings  by  instructing  the  young  folks  in  psalmody.     It  was 
a  matter  of  no  little  vanity  to  him,  on  Sundays,  to  take  his 
station  in  front  of  the  church-gallery,  with  a  band  of  chosen 
singers ;  where,  in  his  own  mind,  he  completely  carried  away  the 
palm  from  the  parson.     Certain  it  is,  his  voice  resounded  far 
above  all  the  rest  of  the  congregation ;  and  there  are  peculiar 
quavers  still  to  be  heard  in  that  church,  and  which  may 
even  be  heard  half  a  mile  off,  quite  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
mill-pond,  on  a  still  Sunday  morning,  which  are  said  to  be  legiti 
mately  descended  from  the  nose  of  Ichabod  Crane.     Thus,  by 
divers  little  makeshifts  in  that  ingenious  way  which  is  com 
monly  denominated  "by  hook  and  by  crook,"  the  worthy 
pedagogue  got  on  tolerably  enough,  and  was  thought,  by  all 
who  understood  nothing  of  the  labor  of  headwork,  to  have 
a  wonderfully  easy  life  of  it. 

14.  The  schoolmaster  is  generally  a  man  of  some  impor 
tance  in  the  female  circle  of  a  rural  neighborhood ;  being  con- 


THE   LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  303 

sidered  a  kind  of  idle,  gentleman-like  personage,  of  vastly 
superior  taste  and  accomplishments  to  the  rough  country 
swains,  and,  indeed,  inferior  in.  learning  only  to  the  parson. 
His  appearance,  therefore,  is  apt  to  occasion  some  little  stir 
at  the  tea-table  of  a  farm-house,  and  the  addition  of  a  super 
numerary  dish  of  cakes  or  sweet  meats,  or,  peradventure,  the 
parade  of  a  silver  teapot.  Our  man  of  letters,  therefore,  was 
peculiarly  happy  in  the  smiles  of  all  the  country  damsels. 
How  he  would  figure  among  them  in  the  churchyard,  be 
tween  services  on  Sundays !  gathering  grapes  for  them  from 
the  wild  vines  that  overrun  the  surrounding  trees;  reciting 
for  their  amusement  all  the  epitaphs  on  the  tombstones ;  or 
sauntering,  with  a  whole  bevy  of  them,  along  the  banks  of  the 
adjacent  mill-pond ;  while  the  more  bashful  country  bumpkins 
hung  sheepishly  back,  envying  his  superior  elegance  and 
address. 

15.  From  his  half  itinerant  life,  also,  he  was  a  kind  of 
travelling  gazette,  carrying  the  whole  budget  of  local  gossip 
from  house  to  house :    so  that  his  appearance  was  always 
greeted  with  satisfaction.     He  was,  moreover,  esteemed  by  the 
women  as  a  man  of  great  erudition,  for  he  had  read  several 
books  quite  through,  and  was  a  perfect  master  of  Cotton 
Mather's  "History  of  New  England  Witchcraft,"  in  which,  by 
the  way,  he  most  firmly  and  potently  believed. 

16.  He  was,  in  fact,  an  odd  mixture  of  small  shrewdness 
and  simple  credulity.     His  appetite  for  the  marvellous,  and 
his  powers  of  digesting  it,  were  equally  extraordinary;   and 
both  had  been  increased  by  his  residence  in  this  spellbound  re 
gion.   No  tale  was  too  gross  or  monstrous  for  his  capacious  swal 
low.     It  was  often  his  delight,  after  his  school  was  dismissed 
in  the  afternoon,  to  stretch  himself  on  the  rich  bed  of  clover 
bordering  the  little  brook  that  whimpered  by  his  school-house, 
and  there  con  over  old  Mather's  direful  tales,  until  the  gather 
ing  dusk  of  the  evening  made  the  printed  page  a  mere  mist 
before  his  eyes.     Then,  as  he  wended  his  way,  by  swamp  and 
stream,  and  awful  woodland,  to  the  farm-house  where  he 
happened  to  be  quartered,  every  sound  of  nature,  at  that 
witching  hour,  fluttered  his  excited  imagination;   the  moan 


304  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  the  whipoorpwill l  from  the  hill-side ;  the  boding  cry  of  the 
tree-toad,  that  harbinger  of  storm ;  the  dreary  hooting  of  the 
screech-owl,  or  the  sudden  rustling  in  the  thicket  of  birds 
frightened  from  their  roost.  The  fire-flies,  too,  which  sparkled 
most  vividly  in  the  darkest  places,  now  and  then  startled  him, 
as  one  of  uncommon  brightness  would  stream  across  his  path ; 
and  if,  by  chance,  a  huge  blockhead  of  a  beetle  came  winging 
his  blundering  flight  against  him,  the  poor  varlet  was  ready 
to  give  up  the  ghost,  with  the  idea  that  he  was  struck  with  a 
witch's  token.  His  only  resource  on  such  occasions,  either 
to  drown  thought  or  drive  away  evil  spirits,  was  to  sing 
psalm-tunes ;  and  the  good  people  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  as  they 
sat  by  their  doors  of  an  evening,  were  often  filled  with  awe, 
at  hearing  his  nasal  melody,  "in  linked  sweetness  long  drawn 
out/'  floating  from  the  distant  hill,  or  along  the  dusky  road. 

17.  Another  of  his  sources  of  fearful  pleasure  was,  to  pass 
long  winter  evenings  with  the  old  Dutch  wives,  as  they  sat 
spinning  by  the  fire,  with  a  row  of  apples  roasting  and  splut 
tering  along  the  hearth  and  listen  to  their  marvellous  tales  of 
ghosts  and  goblins,  and  haunted  fields,  and  haunted  brooks, 
and  haunted  bridges,  and  haunted  houses,  and  particularly 
of  the  headless  horseman,  or  Galloping  Hessian  of  the  Hollow, 
as  they  sometimes  called  him.   He  would  delight  them  equally 
by  his  anecdotes  of  witchcraft,  and  of  the  direful  omens  and 
portentous  sights  and  sounds  in  the  air,  which  prevailed  in 
the  earlier  times  of  Connecticut ;  and  would  frighten  them 
wofully  with  speculations  upon  comets  and  shooting  stars, 
and  with  the  alarming  fact  that  the  world  did  absolutely 
turn  round,  and  that  they  were  half  the  time  topsy-turvy ! 

18.  But  if  there  was  a  pleasure  in  all  this,  while  snugly 
cuddling  in  the  chimney-corner  of  a  chamber  that  was  all  of 
a  ruddy  glow  from  the  crackling  wood-fire,  and  where,  of 
course,  no  spectre  dared  to  show  his  face,  it  was  dearly  pur 
chased  by  the  terrors  of  his  subsequent  walk  homewards. 
What  fearful  shapes  and  shadows  beset  his  path  amidst  the 

1  The  whippoorwill  is  a  bird  which  is  only  heard  at  night.  It  re 
ceives  its  name  from  its  note*  which  is  thought  to  resemble  those 
words. 


THE   LEGEND   OF  SLEEPY   HOLLOW  305 

dim  and  ghastly  glare  of  a  snowy  night ! —  With  what  wistful 
look  did  he  eye  every  trembling  ray  of  light  streaming  across 
the  waste  fields  from  some  distant  window !  —  How  often 
was  he  appalled  by  some  shrub  covered  with  snow,  which,  like 
a  sheeted  spectre,  beset  his  very  path !  —  How  often  did  he 
shrink  with  curdling  awe  at  the  sound  of  his  own  steps  on  the 
frosty  crust  beneath  his  feet;  and  dread  to  look  over  his 
shoulder,  lest  he  should  behold  some  uncouth  being  tramping 
close  behind  him  !  —  and  how  often  was  he  thrown  into  com 
plete  dismay  by  some  rushing  blast,  howling  among  the  trees, 
in  the  idea  that  it  was  the  Galloping  Hessian  on  one  of  his 
nightly  scourings ! 

19.  All  these,  however,  were  mere  terrors  of  the  night, 
phantoms  of  the  mind  that  walk  in  darkness;    and  though 
he  had  seen  many  spectres  in  his  time,  and  been  more  than 
once  beset  by  Satan  in  divers  shapes,  in  his  lonely  perambu 
lations,  yet  daylight  put  an  end  to  all  these  evils;    and  he 
would  have  passed  a  pleasant  life  of  it,  in  despite  of  the  devil 
and  all  his  works,  if  his  path  had  not  been  crossed  by  a  being 
that  causes  more  perplexity  to  mortal  man  than  ghosts, 
goblins,  and  the  whole  race  of  witches  put  together,  and  that 
was  —  a  woman. 

20.  Among  the  musical  disciples  who  assembled,  one  even 
ing  in  each  week,  to  receive  his  instructions  in  psalmody, 
was  Katrina  Van  Tassel,  the  daughter  and  only  child  of  a 
substantial  Dutch  farmer.     She  was  a  blooming  lass  of  fresh 
eighteen ;  plump  as  a  partridge ;  ripe  and  melting  and  rosy- 
cheeked  as  one  of  her  father's  peaches,  and  universally  famed, 
not  merely  for  her  beauty,  but  her  vast  expectations.     She 
was  withal  a  little  of  a  coquette,  as  might  be  perceived  even 
in  her  dress,  which  was  a  mixture  of  ancient  and  modern 
fashions,  as  most  suited  to  set  off  her  charms.     She  wore  the 
ornaments  of  pure  yellow  gold,  which  her  great-great-grand 
mother   had   brought   over   from   Saardam;    the   tempting 
stomacher  of  the  olden  time ;  and  withal  a  provokingly  short 
petticoat,  to  display  the  prettiest  foot  and  ankle  in  the  country 
round. 

21.  Ichabod  Crane  had  a  soft  and  foolish  heart  towards  the 


306  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

sex ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  so  tempting  a  morsel 
soon  found  favor  in  his  eyes;  more  especially  after  he  had 
visited  her  in  her  paternal  mansion.  Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel 
was  a  perfect  picture  of  a  thriving,  contented,  liberal-hearted 
farmer.  He  seldom,  it  is  true,  sent  either  his  eyes  or  his 
thoughts  beyond  the  boundaries  of  his  own  farm ;  but  within 
those  everything  was  snug,  happy,  and  well-conditioned. 
He  was  satisfied  with  his  wealth,  but  not  proud  of  it;  and 
piqued  himself  upon  the  hearty  abundance  rather  than  the 
style  in  which  he  lived.  His  stronghold  was  situated  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson,  in  one  of  those  green,  sheltered,  fertile 
nooks  in  which  the  Dutch  farmers  are  so  fond  of  nestling. 
A  great  elm-tree  spread  its  broad  branches  over  it;  at  the 
foot  of  which  bubbled  up  a  spring  of  the  softest  and  sweetest 
water,  in  a  little  well,  formed  of  a  barrel;  and  then  stole 
sparkling  away  through  the  grass,  to  a  neighboring  brook, 
that  bubbled  along  among  alders  and  dwarf  willows.  Hard  by 
the  farm-house  was  a  vast  barn,  that  might  have  served  for  a 
church ;  every  window  and  crevice  of  which  seemed  bursting 
forth  with  the  treasures  of  the  farm ;  the  flail  was  busily  re 
sounding  within  it  from  morning  till  night;  swallows  and 
martins  skimmed  twittering  about  the  eaves;  and  rows  of 
pigeons,  some  with  one  eye  turned  up,  as  if  watching  the 
weather,  some  with  their  heads  under  their  wings,  or  buried 
in  their  bosoms,  and  others  swelling,  and  cooing,  and  bowing 
about  their  dames,  were  enjoying  the  sunshine  on  the  roof. 
Sleek  unwieldy  porkers  were  grunting  in  the  repose  and 
abundance  of  their  pens ;  whence  sallied  forth,  now  and  then, 
troops  of  sucking  pigs,  as  if  to  snuff  the  air.  A  stately  squad 
ron  of  snowy  geese  were  riding  in  an  adjoining  pond,  con 
voying  whole  fleets  of  ducks;  regiments  of  turkeys  were 
gobbling  through  the  farm-yard,  and  guinea  fowls  fretting 
about  it,  like  ill-tempered  housewives,  with  their  peevish  dis 
contented  cry.  Before  the  barn-door  strutted  the  gallant  cock, 
that  pattern  of  a  husband,  a  warrior,  and  a  fine  gentleman, 
clapping  his  burnished  wings,  and  crowing  in  the  pride  and 
gladness  of  his  heart  —  sometimes  tearing  up  the  earth  with 
his  feet,  and  then  generously  calling  his  ever-hungry  family 


THE   LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  307 

of  wives  and  children  to  enjoy  the  rich  morsel  which  he  had 
discovered. 


ICHABOD   AND   KATRINA 

From  the  engraving  by  C.  R.  Leslie 

22.  The  pedagogue's  mouth  watered,  as  he  looked  upon 
this  sumptuous  promise  of  luxurious  winter  fare.  In  his 
devouring  mind's  eye  he  pictured  to  himself  every  roasting- 
pig  running  about  with  a  pudding  in  his  belly,  and  an  apple 
in  his  mouth,  the  pigeons  were  snugly  put  to  bed  in  a  comfort- 


308  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

able  pie,  and  tucked  in  with  a  coverlet  of  crust ;  the  geese  were 
swimming  in  their  own  gravy;  and  the  ducks  pairing  cosily 
in  dishes,  like  snug  married  couples,  with  a  decent  competency 
of  onion-sauce.  In  the  porkers  he  saw  carved  out  the  future 
sleek  side  of  bacon,  and  juicy  relishing  ham;  not  a  turkey 
but  he  beheld  daintily  trussed  up,  with  its  gizzard  under  its 
wing,  and,  perad venture,  a  necklace  of  savory  sausages ;  and 
even  bright  chanticleer  himself  lay  sprawling  on  his  back,  in 
a  side-dish,  with  uplifted  claws,  as  if  craving  that  quarter 
which  his  chivalrous  spirit  disdained  to  ask  while  living. 

23.  As  the  enraptured  Ichabod  fancied  all  this,  and  as  he 
rolled  his  great  green  eyes  over  the  fat  meadow-lands,  the 
rich  fields  of  wheat,  of  rye,  of  buckwheat,  and  Indian  corn, 
and  the  orchard  burdened  with  ruddy  fruit,  which  surrounded 
the  warm  tenement  of  Van  Tassel,  his  heart  yearned  after  the 
damsel  who  was  to  inherit  these  domains,  and  his  imagination 
expanded  with  the  idea  how  they  might  be  readily  turned  into 
cash,  and  the  money  invested  in  immense  tracts  of  wild  land, 
and  shingle  palaces  in  the  wilderness.     Nay,  his  busy  fancy 
already  realized  his  hopes,  and  presented  to  him  the  blooming 
Katrina,  with  a  whole  family  of  children,  mounted  on  the  top 
of  a  wagon  loaded  with  household  trumpery,  with  pots  and 
kettles  dangling  beneath;    and  he  beheld  himself  bestriding 
a  pacing  mare,  with  a  colt  at  her  heels,  setting  out  for  Ken 
tucky,  Tennessee,  or  the  Lord  knows  where. 

24.  When  he  entered  the  house,  the  conquest  of  his  heart 
was  complete.     It  was  one  of  those  spacious  farm-houses, 
with  high-ridged,  but  lowly-sloping  roofs,  built  in  the  style 
handed  down  from  the  first  Dutch  settlers ;  the  low  projecting 
eaves  forming  a  piazza  along  the  front,  capable  of  being  closed 
up  in  bad  weather.     Under  this  were  hung  flails,  harness,  vari 
ous  utensils  of  husbandry,  and  nets  for  fishing  in  the  neigh 
boring  river.     Benches  were  built  along  the  sides  for  summer 
use;  and  a  great  spinning-wheel  at  one  end,  and  a  churn  at 
the  other,  showed  the  various  uses  to  which  this  important 
porch  might  be  devoted.     From  this  piazza  the  wondering 
Ichabod  entered  the  hall,  which  formed  the  centre  of  the 
mansion  and  the  place  of  usual  residence.     Here,  rows  of 


THE   LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  309 

resplendent  pewter,  ranged  on  a  long  dresser,  dazzled  his 
eyes.  In  one  corner  stood  a  huge  bag  of  wool  ready  to  be 
spun;  in  another  a  quantity  of  linsey-woolsey  just  from  the 
loom;  ears  of  Indian  corn,  and  strings  of  dried  apples  and 
peaches,  hung  in  gay  festoons  along  the  walls,  mingled  with 
the  gaud  of  red  peppers ;  and  a  door  left  ajar  gave  him  a  peep 
into  the  best  parlor,  where  the  claw-footed  chairs  and  dark 
mahogany  tables  shone  like  mirrors;  and  irons,  with  their 
accompanying  shovel  and  tongs,  glistened  from  their  covert 
of  asparagus  tops;  mock-oranges  and  conchshells  decorated 
the  mantel-piece;  strings  of  various  colored  birds'  eggs  were 
suspended  above  it,  a  great  ostrich  egg  was  hung  from  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  a  corner-cupboard,  knowingly  left 
open,  displayed  immense  treasures  of  old  silver  and  well- 
mended  china. 

25.  From  the  moment  Ichabod  laid  his  eyes  upon  these 
regions  of  delight,  the  peace  of  his  mind  was  at  an  end,  and  his 
only  study  was  how  to  gain  the  affections  of  the  peerless 
daughter  of  Van  Tassel.     In  this  enterprise,  however,  he  had 
more  real  difficulties  than  generally  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  knight- 
errant  of  yore,  who  seldom  had  anything  but  giants,  enchan 
ters,  fiery  dragons,  and  such  like  easily  conquered  adversaries, 
to  contend  with ;  and  had  to  make  his  way  merely  through 
gates  of  iron  and  brass,  and  walls  of  adamant,  to  the  castle- 
keep,  where  the  lady  of  his  heart  was  confined ;  all  which  he 
achieved  as  easily  as  a  man  would  carve  his  way  to  the  centre 
of  a  Christmas  pie ;  and  then  the  lady  gave  him  her  hand  as 
a  matter  of  course.     Ichabod,  on  the  contrary,  had  to  win 
his  way  to  the  heart  of  a  country  coquette,  beset  with  a  laby 
rinth  of  whims  and  caprices,  which  were  forever  presenting 
new  difficulties  and  impediments;   and  he  had  to  encounter 
a  host  of  fearful  adversaries  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  the  nu 
merous  rustic  admirers,  who  beset  every  portal  to  her  heart ; 
keeping   a  watchful  and  angry  eye  upon  each  other,  but 
ready  to   fly  out  in  the   common   cause  against  any  new 
competitor. 

26.  Among  these  the  most  formidable  was  a  burly,  roaring, 
roistering  blade,  of  the  name  of  Abraham,  or,  according  to  the 


310  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Dutch  abbreviation,  Brom  Van  Brunt,  the  hero  of  the  country 
round,  which  rang  with  his  feats  of  strength  and  hardihood. 
He  was  broad-shouldered,  and  double-jointed,  with  short 
curly  black  hair,  and  a  bluff  but  not  unpleasant  countenance 
having  a  mingled  air  of  fun  and  arrogance.  From  his  Her 
culean  frame  and  great  powers  of  limb,  he  had  received  the 
nickname  of  BROM  BONES,  by  which  he  was  universally 
known.  He  was  famed  for  great  knowledge  and  skill  in 
horsemanship,  being  as  dexterous  on  horseback  as  a  Tartar. 
He  was  foremost  at  all  races  and  cockfights;  and,  with  the 
ascendency  which  bodily  strength  acquires  in  rustic  life, 
was  the  umpire  in  all  disputes,  setting  his  hat  on  one  side, 
and  giving  his  decisions  with  an  air  and  tone  admitting  of  no 
gainsay  or  appeal.  He  was  always  ready  for  either  a  fight  or 
a  frolic ;  but  had  more  mischief  than  ill-will  in  his  composition ; 
and,  with  all  his  overbearing  roughness,  there  was  a  strong 
dash  of  waggish  good-humor  at  bottom.  He  had  three  or 
four  boon  companions,  who  regarded  him  as  their  model,  and 
at  the  head  of  whom  he  scoured  the  country,  attending  every 
scene  of  feud  or  merriment  for  miles  round.  In  cold  weather 
he  was  distinguished  by  a  fur  cap,  surmounted  with  a  flaunt 
ing  fox's  tail;  and  when  the  folks  at  a  country  gathering 
descried  this  well-known  crest  at  a  distance,  whisking  about 
among  a  squad  of  hard  riders,  they  always  stood  by  for  a 
squall.  Sometimes  his  crew  would  be  heard  dashing  along 
past  the  farm-houses  at  midnight,  with  whoop  and  halloo, 
like  a  troop  of  Don  Cossacks;  and  the  old  dames,  startled 
out  of  their  sleep,  would  listen  for  a  moment  till  the  hurry- 
scurry  had  clattered  by,  and  then  exclaim,  "Ay,  there  goes 
Brom  Bones  and  his  gang ! "  The  neighbors  looked  upon  him 
with  a  mixture  of  awe,  admiration,  and  good-will ;  and  when 
any  madcap  prank,  or  rustic  brawl,  occurred  in  the  vicinity, 
always  shook  their  heads,  and  warranted  Brom  Bones  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it. 

27.  This  rantipole  hero  had  for  some  time  singled  out  the 
blooming  Katrina  for  the  object  of  his  uncouth  gallantries; 
and  though  his  amorous  toyings  were  something  like  the  gentle 
caresses  and  endearments  of  a  bear,  yet  it  was  whispered  that 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  311 

she  did  not  altogether  discourage  his  hopes.  Certain  it  is, 
his  advances  were  signals  for  rival  candidates  to  retire,  who 
felt  no  inclination  to  cross  a  lion  in  his  amours;  insomuch, 
that,  when  his  horse  was  seen  tied  to  Van  Tassel's  paling  one 
Sunday  night,  a  sure  sign  that  his  master  was  courting,  or, 
as  it  is  termed,  "  sparking/'  within,  all  other  suitors  passed 
by  in  despair,  and  carried  the  war  into  other  quarters. 

28.  Such  was  the  formidable  rival  with  whom  Ichabod 
Crane  had  to  contend,  and,  considering  all  things,  a  stouter 
man  than  he  would  have  shrunk  from  the  competition,  and 
a  wiser  man  would  have  despaired.     He  had,  however,  a 
happy  mixture  of  pliability  and  perseverance  in  his  nature; 
he  was  in  form  and  spirit  like  a  supple-jack  —  yielding,  but 
tough;    though  he  bent,  he  never  broke;    and  though  he 
bowed  beneath  the  slightest  pressure,  yet,  the  moment  it  was 
away  —  jerk !   he  was  as  erect,  and  carried  his  head  as  high 
as  ever. 

29.  To  have  taken  the  field  openly  against  his  rival  would 
have  been  madness ;  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  thwarted 
in  his  amours,  any  more  than  that  stormy  lover,  Achilles. 
Ichabod,  therefore,  made  his  advances  in  a  quiet  and  gently 
insinuating  manner.     Under  cover  of  his  character  of  sing 
ing-master,  he  had  made  frequent  visits  at  the  farm-house; 
not  that  he  had  anything  to  apprehend  from  the  meddlesome 
interference  of  parents,  which  is  so  often  a  stumbling-block  in 
the  path  of  lovers.     Bait  Van  Tassel  was  an  easy,  indulgent 
soul;   he  loved  his  daughter  better  even  than  his  pipe,  and, 
like  a  reasonable  man  and  an  excellent  father,  let  her  have  her 
way  in  everything.     His  notable  little  wife,  too,  had  enough 
to  do  to  attend  to  her  housekeeping  and  manage  her  poultry ; 
for,  as  she  sagely  observed,  ducks  and  geese  are  foolish  things, 
and  must  be  looked  after,  but  girls  can  take  care  of  themselves. 
Thus  while  the  busy  dame  bustled  about  the  house,  or  plied 
her  spinning-wheel  at  one  end  of  the  piazza,  honest  Bait 
would  sit  smoking  his  evening  pipe  at  the  other,  watching  the 
achievements  of  a  little  wooden  warrior,  who,  armed  with  a 
sword  in  each  hand,  was  most  valiantly  fighting  the  wind  on 
the  pinnacle  of  the  barn.     In  the  meantime,  Ichabod  would 


312  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

carry  on  his  suit  with  the  daughter  by  the  side  of  the  spring 
under  the  great  elm,  or  sauntering  along  in  the  twilight,  — • 
that  hour  so  favorable  to  the  lover's  eloquence. 

30.  I  profess  not  to  know  how  women's  hearts  are  wooed 
and  won.     To  me  they  have  always  been  matters  of  riddle 
and  admiration.    Some  seem  to  have  but  one  vulnerable  point, 
or  door  of  access,  while  others  have  a  thousand  avenues,  and 
may  be  captured  in  a  thousand  different  ways.     It  is  a  great 
triumph  of  skill  to  gain  the  former,  but  a  still  greater  proof 
of  generalship  to  maintain  possession  of  the  latter,  for  the 
man  must  battle  for  his  fortress  at  every  door  and  window. 
He  who  wins  a  thousand  common  hearts  is  therefore  entitled 
to  some  renown ;  but  he  who  keeps  undisputed  sway  over  the 
heart  of  a  coquette,  is  indeed  a  hero.     Certain  it  is,  this  was 
not  the  case  with  the  redoubtable  Brom  Bones:   and  from 
the  moment  Ichabod  Crane  made  his  advances,  the  interests 
of  the  former  evidently  declined;    his  horse  was  no  longer 
seen  tied  at  the  palings  on  Sunday  nights,  and  a  deadly  feud 
gradually  arose  between  him  and  the  preceptor  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

31.  Brom,  who  had  a  degree  of  rough  chivalry  in  his  nature, 
would  fain  have  carried  matters  to  open  warfare,  and  have 
settled  their  pretensions  to  the  lady  according  to  the  mode 
of  those  most  concise  and  simple  reasoners,  the  knights-errant 
of  yore  —  by  single  combat ;  but  Ichabod  was  too  conscious 
of  the  superior  might  of  his  adversary  to  enter  the  lists  against 
him :    he  had  overheard  a  boast  of   Bones,  that  he  would 
"double  the  schoolmaster  up,  and  lay  him  on  a  shelf  of  his 
own  school-house;"  and  he  was  too  wary  to  give  him  an 
opportunity.     There  was  something  extremely  provoking  in 
this  obstinately  pacific  system;   it  left  Brom  no  alternative 
but  to  draw  upon  the  funds  of  rustic  waggery  in  his  disposi 
tion,  and  to  play  off  boorish  practical  jokes  upon  his  rival. 
Ichabod  became  the  object  of  whimsical  persecution  to  Bones 
and  his  gang  of  rough  riders.    They  harried  his  hitherto 
peaceful  domains ;  smoked  out  his  singing-school,  by  stopping 
up  the  chimney ;  broke  into  the  school-house  at  night,  in  spite 
of  its  formidable  fastenings  of  withe  and  window-stakes,  and 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  313 

turned  everything  topsy-turvy:  so  that  the  poor  school 
master  began  to  think  all  the  witches  in  the  country  held  their 
meetings  there.  But  what  was  still  more  annoying,  Brom 
took  opportunities  of  turning  him  into  ridicule  in  presence  of 
his  mistress,  and  had  a  scoundrel  dog  whom  he  taught  to 
whine  in  the  most  ludicrous  manner,  and  introduced  as  a  rival 
of  Ichabod 's  to  instruct  her  in  psalmody. 

32.  In  this  way  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  without 
producing  any  material  effect  on  the  relative  situation  of  the 
contending  powers.     On  a  fine  autumnal  afternoon,  Ichabod, 
in  pensive  mood,  sat  enthroned  on  the  lofty  stool  whence  he 
usually  watched  all  the  concerns  of  his  little  literary  realm. 
In  his  hand  he  swayed  a  ferule,  that  sceptre  of  despotic  power ; 
the  birch  of  justice  reposed  on  three  nails,  behind  the  throne, 
a  constant  terror  to  evil-doers;    while   on  the  desk  before 
him  might  be  seen  sundry  contraband  articles  and  prohibited 
weapons,  detected  upon  the  persons  of  idle  urchins ;  such  as 
half  munched  apples,  popguns,  whirligigs,  fly-cages,  and  whole 
legions   of    rampant   little   paper   gamecocks.      Apparently 
there  had  been  some  appalling  act  of  justice  recently  inflicted, 
for  his  scholars  were  all  busily  intent  upon  their  books,  or 
slyly  whispering  behind  them  with  one  eye  kept  upon  the 
master;   and  a  kind  of  buzzing  stillness  reigned  throughout 
the  school-room.     It  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  negro,  in  tow-cloth  jacket  and  trousers,  a  round- 
crowned  fragment  of  a  hat,  like  the  cap  of  Mercury,  and 
mounted  on  the  back  of  a  ragged,  wild,  half-broken  colt, 
which  he  managed  with  a  rope  by  way  of  halter.     He  came 
clattering  up  to  the  school-door  with  an  invitation  to  Ichabod 
to  attend  a  merry-making  or  "quilting  frolic,"  to  be  held  that 
evening  at  Mynheer  Van  Tassel's;   and  having  delivered  his 
message  with  that  air  of  importance,  and  effort  at  fine  lan 
guage,  which  a  negro  is  apt  to  display  on  petty  embassies 
of  the  kind,  he  dashed  over  the  brook,  and  was  seen  scamper 
ing  away  up  the  Hollow,  full  of  the  importance  and  hurry  of 
his  mission. 

33.  All  was  now  bustle  and  hubbub  in  the  late  quiet  school 
room.     The  scholars  were  hurried  through  their  lessons,  with- 


314  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

out  stopping  at  trifles ;  those  who  were  nimble  skipped  over 
half  with  impunity,  and  those  who  were  tardy  had  a  smart 
application  now  and  then  in  the  rear,  to  quicken  their  speed, 
or  help  them  over  a  tall  word.  Books  were  flung  aside  with 
out  being  put  away  on  the  shelves,  inkstands  were  over 
turned,  benches  thrown  down,  and  the  whole  school  was 
turned  loose  an  hour  before  the  usual  time,  bursting  forth  like 
a  legion  of  young  imps,  yelping  and  racketing  about  the  green, 
in  joy  at  their  early  emancipation. 

34.  The  gallant  Ichabod  now  spent  at  least  an  extra  half- 
hour  at  his  toilet,  brushing  and  furbishing  up  his  best  and 
indeed  only  suit  of  rusty  black,  and  arranging  his  locks  by 
a  bit  of  broken  looking-glass,  that  hung  up  in  the  school- 
house.     That  he  might  make  his  appearance  before  his  mis 
tress  in  the  true  style  of  a  cavalier,  he  borrowed  a  horse  from 
the  farmer  with  whom  he  was  domiciliated,  a  choleric  old 
Dutchman,  of  the  name  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and,  thus  gal 
lantly  mounted,  issued  forth,  like  a  knight-errant  in  quest  of 
adventures.     But  it  is  meet  I  should,  in  the  true  spirit  of 
romantic  story,  give  some  account  of  the  looks  and  equip 
ments  of  my  hero  and  his  steed.     The  animal  he  bestrode  was 
a  broken-down  plough-horse,  that  had  outlived  almost  every 
thing  but  his  viciousness.     He  was  gaunt  and  shagged,  with  a 
ewe  neck  and  a  head  like  a  hammer ;  his  rusty  mane  and  tail 
were  tangled  and  knotted  with  burrs ;   one  eye  had  lost  its 
pupil,  and  was  glaring  and  spectral;   but  the  other  had  the 
gleam  of  a  genuine  devil  in  it.     Still  he  must  have  had  fire 
and  mettle  in  his  day,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  name  he  bore 
of  Gunpowder.     He  had,  in  fact,  been  a  favorite  steed  of  his 
master's,  the  choleric  Van  Ripper,  who  was  a  furious  rider,  and 
had  infused,  very  probably,  some  of  his  own  spirit  into  the 
animal;  for,  old  and  broken-down  as  he  looked,  there  was 
more  of  the  lurking  devil  in  him  than  in  any  young  filly  in  the 
country. 

35.  Ichabod  was  a  suitable  figure  for  such  a  steed.     He 
rode  with  short  stirrups,  which  brought  his  knees  nearly  up  to 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle;   his  sharp  elbows  stuck  out  like 
grasshoppers';    he  carried   his  whip  perpendicularly  in   his 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  315 

hand,  like  a  sceptre,  and,  as  his  horse  jogged  on,  the  motion  of 
his  arms  was  not  unlike  the  flapping  of  a  pair  of  wings.  A 
small  wool  hat  rested  on  the  top  of  his  nose,  for  so  his  scanty 
strip  of  forehead  might  be  called ;  and  the  skirts  of  his  black 
coat  fluttered  out  almost  to  the  horse's  tail.  Such  was  the  ap 
pearance  of  Ichabod  and  his  steed,  as  they  shambled  out  of 
the  gate  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  it  was  altogether  such  an 
apparition  as  is  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  broad  daylight. 

36.  It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  fine  autumnal  day,  the  sky 
was  clear  and  serene,  and  nature  wore  that  rich  and  golden 
livery  which  we  always  associate  with  the  idea  of  abundance. 
The  forests  had  put  on  their  sober  brown  and  yellow,  while 
some  trees  of  the  tenderer  kind  had  been  nipped  by  the  frosts 
into  brilliant  dyes  of  orange,  purple,  and  scarlet.     Streaming 
files  of  wild  ducks  began  to  make  their  appearance  high  in  the 
air ;  the  bark  of  the  squirrel  might  be  heard  from  the  groves 
of  beech  and  hickory  nuts,  and  the  pensive  whistle  of  the  quail 
at  intervals  from  the  neighboring  stubblefield. 

37.  The  small  birds  were  taking  their  farewell  banquets. 
In  the  fullness  of  their  revelry,  they  fluttered,  chirping  and 
frolicking,  from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree  to  tree,  capricious  from 
the  very  profusion  and  variety  around  them.     There  was  the 
honest  cockrobin,  the  favorite  game  of  stripling  sportsmen, 
with  its  loud  querulous  notes;  and  the  twittering  blackbirds 
flying  in  sable  clouds;    and  the  golden-winged  woodpecker, 
with  his  crimson  crest,  his  broad  black  gorget,  and  splendid 
plumage;    and  the  cedar-bird,  with  its  red-tipt  wings  and 
yellow-tipt  tail,  and  its  little  monteiro  cap  of  feathers;    and 
the  blue  jay,  that  noisy  coxcomb,  in  his  gay  light-blue  coat 
and  white  under-clothes,  screaming  and  chattering,  nodding 
and  bobbing  and  bowing,  and  pretending  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  every  songster  of  the  grove. 

38.  As  Ichabod  jogged  slowly  on  his  way,  his  eye,  ever  open 
to  every  symptom  of  culinary  abundance,  ranged  with  delight 
over  the  treasures  of  jolly  autumn.     On  all  sides  he  beheld 
vast  store  of  apples ;  some  hanging  in  oppressive  opulence  on 
the  trees;    some  gathered  into  baskets  and  barrels  for  the 
market;    others  heaped  up  in  rich  piles  for  the  cider-press. 


316  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Farther  on  he  beheld  great  fields  of  Indian  corn,  with  its 
golden  ears  peeping  from  their  leafy  coverlets,  and  holding 
out  the  promise  of  cakes  and  hasty-pudding ;  and  the  yellow 
pumpkins  lying  beneath  them,  turning  up  their  fair  round 
bellies  to  the  sun,  and  giving  ample  prospects  of  the  most  lux 
urious  of  pies;  and  anon  he  passed  the  fragrant  buckwheat 
fields,  breathing  the  odor  of  the  bee-hive,  and  as  he  beheld 
them,  soft  anticipations  stole  over  his  mind  of  dainty  slapjacks, 
well  buttered,  and  garnished  with  honey  or  treacle,  by  the 
delicate  little  dimpled  hand  of  Katrina  Van  Tassel. 

39.  Thus  feeding  his  mind  with  many  sweet  thoughts  and 
" sugared  suppositions,"  he  journeyed  along  the  sides  of  a 
range  of  hills  which  look  out  upon  some  of  the  goodliest  scenes 
of  the  mighty  Hudson.     The  sun  gradually  wheeled  his  broad 
disk  down  into  the  west.     The  wide  bosom  of  the  Tappan  Zee 
lay  motionless  and  glassy,  excepting  that  here  and  there  a 
gentle  undulation  waved  and  prolonged  the  blue  shadow  of 
the  distant  mountain.     A  few  amber  clouds  floated  in  the  sky, 
without  a  breath  of  air  to  move  them.     The  horizon  was  of  a 
fine  golden  tint,  changing  gradually  into  a  purple  apple-green, 
and  from  that  into  the  deep  blue  of  the  mid-heaven.     A  slant 
ing  ray  lingered  on  the  woody  crests  of  the  precipices  that 
overhung  some  parts  of  the  river,  giving  greater  depth  to  the 
dark-gray  and  purple  of  their  rocky  sides.     A  sloop  was  loi 
tering  in  the  distance,  dropping  slowly  down  with  the  tide,  her 
sail  hanging  uselessly  against  the  mast ;  and  as  the  reflection 
of  the  sky  gleamed  along  the  still  water,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
vessel  was  suspended  in  the  air. 

40.  It  was  toward  evening  that  Ichabod  arrived  at  the 
castle  of  the  Heer  Van  Tassel,  which  he  found  thronged  with 
the  pride  and  flower  of  the  adjacent  country.     Old  farmers,  a 
spare  leathern-faced  race,  in  homespun  coats  and  breeches, 
blue  stockings,  huge  shoes,  and  magnificent  pewter  buckles. 
Their  brisk  withered  little  dames,  in  close  crimped  caps,  long- 
waisted  shortgowns,  homespun  petticoats,  with  scissors  and 
pincushions,  and  gay  calico  pockets  hanging  on  the  outside. 
Buxom  lasses,  almost  as  antiquated  as  their  mothers,  ex 
cepting  where  a  straw  hat,  a  fine  ribbon,  or  perhaps  a  white 


THE   LEGEND    OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  317 

frock,  gave  symptoms  of  city  innovation.  The  sons,  in  short 
square-skirted  coats  with  rows  of  stupendous  brass  buttons, 
and  their  hair  generally  queued  in  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
especially  if  they  could  procure  an  eel-skin  for  the  purpose,  it 
being  esteemed,  throughout  the  country,  as  a  potent  nourisher 
and  strengthener  of  the  hair. 

41.  Brom  Bones,  however,    was   the    hero    of   the    scene, 
having  come  to  the  gathering  on  his  favorite  steed,  Daredevil, 
a  creature,  like  himself,  full  of  mettle  and  mischief,  and  which 
no  one  but  himself  could  manage.     He  was,  in  fact,  noted 
for  preferring  vicious  animals,  given  to  all  kinds  of  tricks, 
which  kept  the  rider  in  constant  risk  of  his  neck,  for  he 
held  a  tractable  well-broken  horse  as  unworthy  of  a  lad  of 
spirit. 

42.  Fain  would  I  pause  to  dwell  upon  the  world  of  charms 
that  burst  upon  the  enraptured  gaze  of  my  hero,  as  he  entered 
the  state  parlor  of  Van  Tassel's  mansion.     Not  those  of  the 
bevy  of  buxom  lasses,  with  their  luxurious  display  of  red  and 
white ;  but  the  ample  charms  of  a  genuine  Dutch  country  tea- 
table,  in  the  sumptuous  time  of  autumn.     Such  heaped-up 
platters  of  cakes  of  various  and  almost  indescribable  kinds, 
known  only  to  experienced  Dutch  housewives  !     There  was  the 
doughty  doughnut,  the  tenderer  oly  koek,  and  the  crisp  and 
crumbling  cruller ;  sweet  cakes  and  short  cakes,  ginger-cakes 
and  honey-cakes,  and  the  whole  family  of  cakes.     And  then 
there  were  apple-pies  and  peach-pies  and  pumpkin-pies;   be 
sides  slices  of  ham  and  smoked  beef ;  and  moreover  delectable 
dishes   of   preserved   plums,    and   peaches,  and   pears,  and 
quinces;   not  to  mention  broiled  shad  and  roasted  chickens; 
together  with  bowls  of  milk  and  cream,  all  mingled  higgledy 
piggledy,  pretty  much  as  I  have  enumerated  them,  with  the 
motherly  tea-pot  sending  up  its  clouds  of  vapor  from  the 
midst  —  Heaven  bless  the  mark !     I  want  breath  and  time 
to  discuss  this  banquet  as  it  deserves,  and  am  too  eager  to 
get  on  with  my  story.     Happily,  Ichabod  Crane  was  not  in  so 
great  a  hurry  as  his  historian,  but  did  ample  justice  to  every 
dainty. 

43.  He  was  a  kind  and  thankful  creature,  whose  heart 


318  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

dilated  in  proportion  as  his  skin  was  filled  with  good  cheer; 
and  whose  spirits  rose  with  eating  as  some  men's  do  with 
drink.  He  could  not  help,  too,  rolling  his  large  eyes  round 
him  as  he  ate,  and  chuckling  with  the  possibility  that  he  might 
one  day  be  lord  of  all  this  scene  of  almost  unimaginable  lux 
ury  and  splendor.  Then,  he  thought,  how  soon  he'd  turn  his 
back  upon  the  old  school-house ;  snap  his  fingers  in  the  face 
of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  every  other  niggardly  patron,  and 
kick  any  itinerant  pedagogue  out-of-doors  that  should  dare 
to  call  him  comrade ! 

44.  Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  moved  about  among  his  guests 
with  a  face  dilated  with  content  and  good-humor,  round  and 
jolly  as  the  harvest-moon.     His  hospitable  attentions  were 
brief,  but  expressive,  being  confined  to  a  shake  of  the  hand,  a 
slap  on  the  shoulder,  a  loud  laugh,  and  a  pressing  invitation 
to  "fall  to,  and  help  themselves." 

45.  And  now  the  sound  of  the  music  from  the  common 
room,  or  hall,  summoned  to  the  dance.     The  musician  was  an 
old  gray-headed  negro,  who  had  been  the  itinerant  orchestra 
of  the  neighborhood  for  more  than  half  a  century.     His  in 
strument  was  as  old  and  battered  as  himself.     The  greater 
part  of  the  time  he  scraped  on  two  or  three  strings  accom 
panying  every  movement  of  the  bow  with  a  motion  of  the 
head;   bowing  almost  to  the  ground  and  stamping  with  his 
foot  whenever  a  fresh  couple  were  to  start. 

46.  Ichabod  prided  himself  upon  his  dancing  as  much  as 
upon  his  vocal  powers.      Not  a  limb,  not  a  fibre  about  him 
was  idle;    and  to  have  seen  his  loosely  hung  frame  in  full 
motion,  and  clattering   about  the  room,  you   would  have 
thought  Saint  Vitus  himself,  that  blessed  patron  of  the  dance, 
was  figuring  before  you  in  person.     He  was  the  admiration 
of  all  the  negroes ;  who,  having  gathered,  of  all  ages  and  sizes, 
from  the  farm  and  the  neighborhood,  stood  forming  a  pyramid 
of  shining  black  faces  at  every  door  and  window,  gazing  with 
delight  at  the  scene,  rolling  their  white  eyeballs,  and  showing 
grinning  rows  of  ivory  from  ear  to  ear.     How  could  the  flogger 
of  urchins  be  otherwise  than  animated  and  joyous?  the  lady 
of  his  heart  was  his  partner  in  the  dance,  and  smiling  gra- 


THE   LEGEND    OF    SLEEPY    HOLLOW  319 

ciously  in  reply  to  all  his  amorous  oglings ;  while  Brom  Bones, 
sorely  smitten  with  love  and  jealousy,  sat  brooding  by  him 
self  in  one  corner. 

47.  When  the  dance  was  at  an  end,  Ichabod  was  attracted 
to  a  knot  of  the  sager  folks,  who,  with  old  Van  Tassel,  sat 
smoking  at  one  end  of  the  piazza,  gossiping  over  former  times, 
and  drawing  out  long  stories  about  the  war. 

48.  This  neighborhood,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking, 
was  one  of  those  highly  favored  places  which  abound  with 
chronicle  and  great  men.     The  British  and  American  line 
had  run  near  it  during  the  war;   it  had,  therefore,  been  the 
scene  of  marauding,  and  infested  with  refugees,  cow-boys,  and 
all  kinds  of  border  chivalry.     Just  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
to  enable  each  story-teller  to  dress  up  his  tale  with  a  little 
becoming  fiction,  and,  in  the  indistinctness  of  his  recollection, 
to  make  himself  the  hero  of  every  exploit. 

49.  There  was  the  story  of  Doffue  Martling,  a  large  blue- 
bearded  Dutchman,  who  had  nearly  taken  a  British  frigate 
with  an  old  iron  nine-pounder  from  a  mud  breastwork,  only 
that  his  gun  burst  at  the  sixth  discharge.     And  there  was 
an  old  gentleman  who  shall  be  nameless,  being  too  rich  a 
mynheer  to  be  lightly  mentioned,  who,  in  the  battle  of  White- 
plains,  being  an  excellent  master  of  defence,  parried  a  musket- 
ball  with  a  small  sword,  insomuch  that  he  absolutely  felt 
it  whiz  round  the  blade,  and  glance  off  at  the  hilt ;  in  proof 
of  which  he  was  ready  at  any  time  to  show  the  sword,  with  the 
hilt  a  little  bent.     There  were  several  more  that  had  been 
equally  great-  in  the  field,  not  one  of  whom  but  was  persuaded 
that  he  had  a  considerable  hand  in  bringing  the  war  to  a  happy 
termination. 

50.  But  all  these  were  nothing  to  the  tales  of  ghosts  and 
apparitions  that  succeeded.     The  neighborhood  is  rich  in 
legendary  treasures  of  the  kind.     Local  tales  and  supersti 
tions  thrive  best  in  these  sheltered  long-settled  retreats ;  but 
are  trampled  underfoot  by  the  shifting  throng  that  forms  the 
population  of  most  of  our  country  places.     Besides,  there  is  no 
encouragement  for  ghosts  in  most   of  our  villages,  for  they 
have  scarcely  had  time  to  finish  their  first  nap,  and  turn  them- 


320  THE    SKETCH-BOOK 

selves  in  their  graves  before  their  surviving  friends  have 
travelled  away  from  the  neighborhood;  so  that  when  they 
turn  out  at  night  to  walk  their  rounds,  they  have  no  acquain 
tance  left  to  call  upon.  This  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  we 
so  seldom  hear  of  ghosts,  except  in  our  long-established  Dutch 
communities. 

51.  The  immediate  cause,  however,  of  the  prevalence  of 
supernatural  stories  in  these  parts  was  doubtless  owing  to  the 
vicinity  of  Sleepy  Hollow.     There  was  a  contagion  in  the  very 
air  that  blew  from  that  haunted  region ;  it  breathed  forth  an 
atmosphere  of  dreams  and  fancies  infecting  all  the  land.     Sev 
eral  of  the  Sleepy  Hollow  people  were  present  at  Van  Tassel's, 
and,  as    usual,  were    doling  out  their  wild  and  wonderful 
legends.     Many  dismal  tales  were  told  about  funeral  trains, 
and  mourning  cries  and  wailings  heard  and  seen  about  the 
great  tree  where  the  unfortunate  Major  Andre  was  taken,  and 
which  stood  in  the  neighborhood.     Some  mention  was  made 
also  of  the  woman  in  white,  that  haunted  the  dark  glen  at 
Raven  Rock,  and  was  often  heard  to  shriek  on  winter  nights 
before  a  storm,  having  perished  there  in  the  snow.     The  chief 
part  of  the  stories,  however,  turned  upon  the  favorite  spectre 
of  Sleepy  Hollow,  the  headless  horseman,  who  had  been  heard 
several  times  of  late,  patrolling  the  country ;  and,  it  was  said, 
tethered  his  horse  nightly  among  the  graves  in  the  church 
yard. 

52.  The  sequestered  situation  of  this  church  seems  always 
to  have   made  it  a  favorite  haunt  of    troubled  spirits.     It 
stands  on  a  knoll,  surrounded  by  locust-trees  and  lofty  elms, 
from  among  which  its  decent  whitewashed  walls  shine  mod 
estly  forth,  like  Christian  purity  beaming  through  the  shades 
of  retirement.     A  gentle  slope  descends  from  it  to  a  silver 
sheet  of  water,  bordered  by  high  trees,  between  which,  peeps 
may  be   caught  at  the  blue  hills  of  the  Hudson.     To  look 
upon  its  grass-grown  yard,  where  the  sunbeams  seem  to  sleep 
so  quietly,  one  would  think  that  there  at  least  the  dead  might 
rest  in  peace.     On  one  side  of  the  church  extends  a  wide 
woody  dell,  along  which  raves  a  large  brook  among  broken 
rocks  and  trunks  of  fallen  trees.     Over  a  deep  black  part  of  the 


THE   LEGEND    OF    SLEEPY   HOLLOW 


321 


stream,  not  far  from  the  church,  was  formerly  thrown  a 
wooden  bridge ;  the  road  that  led  to  it,  and  the  bridge  itself, 
were  thickly  shaded  by  overhanging  trees,  which  cast  a  gloom 
about  it,  even  in  the  daytime,  but  occasioned  a  fearful  dark 
ness  at  night.  This  was  one  of  the  favorite  haunts  of  the 
headless  horseman;  and  the  place  where  he  was  most  fre 
quently  encountered.  The  tale  was  told  of  old  Brouwer,  a 
most  heretical  disbeliever  in  ghosts,  how  he  met  the  horse- 


SLEEPY  HOLLOW  CHURCH  AND  CEMETERY 


man  returning  from  his  foray  into  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  was 
obliged  to  get  up  behind  him ;  how  they  galloped  over  bush 
and  brake,  over  hill  and  swamp,  until  they  reached  the  bridge ; 
when  the  horseman  suddenly  turned  into  a  skeleton,  threw 
old  Brouwer  into  the  brook,  and  sprang  away  over  the  tree- 
tops  with  a  clap  of  thunder. 

53.  This  story  was  immediately  matched  by  a  thrice  mar 
vellous  adventure  of  Brom  Bones,  who  made  light  of  the 
galloping  Hessian  as  an  arrant  jockey.  He  affirmed  that,  on 
returning  one  night  from  the  neighboring  village  of  Sing  Sing, 
he  had  been  overtaken  by  this  midnight  trooper ;  that  he  had 
offered  to  race  with  him  for  a-  bowl  of  punch,  and  should  have 
won  it  too,  for  Daredevil  beat  the  goblin  horse  all  hollow, 


322  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

but,  just  as  they  came  to  the  church-bridge,  the  Hessian 
bolted,  and  vanished  in  a  flash  of  fire. 

54.  All  these  tales,  told  in  that  drowsy  undertone  with 
which  men  talk  in  the  dark,  the  countenances  of  the  listeners 
only  now  and  then  receiving  a  casual  gleam  from  the  glare  of 
a  pipe,  sank  deep  in  the  mind  of  Ichabod.     He  repaid  them 
in  kind  with  large  extracts  from  his  invaluable  author,  Cotton 
Mather,  and  added  many  marvellous  events  that  had  taken 
place  in  his  native  State  of  Connecticut,  and  fearful  sights 
which  he  had  seen  in  his  nightly  walks  about  the  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

55.  The  revel  now  gradually  broke  up.     The  old  farmers 
gathered  together  their  families  in  their  wagons,  and  were 
heard  for  some  time  rattling  along  the  hollow  roads,  and  over 
the  distant  hills.     Some  of  the  damsels  mounted  on  pillions 
behind  their  favorite  swains,  and  their  light-hearted  laughter, 
mingling  with  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  echoed  along  the  silent 
woodlands,  sounding  fainter  and  fainter  until  they  gradually 
died  away  —  and  the  late  scene  of  noise  and  frolic  was  all  silent 
and  deserted.     Ichabod  only  lingered  behind,  according  to  the 
custom  of  country  lovers,  to  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  the  heiress, 
fully  convinced  that  he  was  now  on  the  high  road  to  success. 
What  passed  at  this  interview  I  will  not  pretend  to  say,  for  in 
fact  I  do  not  know.     Something,  however,  I  fear  me,  must 
have  gone  wrong,  for  he  certainly  sallied  forth,  after  no  very 
great  interval,  with  an  air  quite  desolate  and  chopfallen.  — 
Oh,  these  women !  these  women  !     Could  that  girl  have  been 
playing  oft7  any  of  her  coquettish  tricks?  —  Was  her  en 
couragement  of  the  poor  pedagogue  all  a  mere  sham  to  secure 
her  conquest  of  his  rival  ?  —  Heaven  only  knows,  not  I !  — 
Let  it  suffice  to  say,  Ichabod  stole  forth  with  the  air  of  one 
who  had  been  sacking  a  henroost,  rather  than  a  fair  lady's 
heart.    Without  looking  to  the  right  or  left  to  notice  the  scene 
of  rural  wealth  on  which  he  had  so  often  gloated,  he  went 
straight  to  the  stable,  and  with  several  hearty  cuffs  and  kicks, 
roused  his  steed  most  uncourteously  from  the  comfortable 
quarters  in  which  he  was  soundly  sleeping,  dreaming  of  moun 
tains  of  corn  and  oats,  and  whole  valleys  of  timothy  and  clover. 


THE   LEGEND    OF    SLEEPY   HOLLOW  323 

56.  It  was  the  very  witching  time  of  night  that  Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted   and   crest-fallen,   pursued   his   travel   home 
wards,  along  the  sides  of  the  lofty  hills  which  rise  above 
Tarry  Town,  and  which  he  had  traversed  so  cherrily  in  the 
afternoon.     The  hour  was  as  dismal  as  himself.     Far  below 
him,  the  Tappan  Zee  spread  its  dusky  and  indistinct  waste 
of  waters,  with  here  and  there  the  tall  mast  of  a  sloop  riding 
quietly  at  anchor  under  the  land.     In  the  dead  hush  of  mid 
night  he  could  even  hear  the  barking  of  the  watch-dog   from 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  Hudson;   but  it  was  so  vague  and 
faint  as  only  to  give  an  idea  of  his  distance  from  this  faithful 
companion  of  man.     Now  and  then,  too,  the  long-drawn  crow 
ing  of  a  cock,  accidentally  awakened,  would  sound  far,  far  off, 
from  some  farm-house  away  among  the  hills — but  it  was  like  a 
dreaming  sound  in  his  ear.    No  signs  of  life  occurred  near  him, 
but  occasionally  the  melancholy  chirp  of  a  cricket,  or  perhaps 
the  guttural  twang  of  a  bull-frog,  from  a  neighboring  marsh, 
as  if  sleeping  uncomfortably,  and  turning  suddenly  in  his  bed. 

57.  All  the  stories  of  ghosts  and  goblins  that  he  had  heard 
in  the  afternoon,  now  came  crowding  upon  his  recollection. 
The  night  grew  darker  and  darker ;  the  stars  seemed  to  sink 
deeper  in  the  sky,  and  driving  clouds  occasionally  hid  them 
from  his  sight.     He  had  never  felt  so  lonely  and  dismal.     He 
was,  moreover,  approaching  the  very  place  where  many  of  the 
scenes  of  the  ghost-stories  had  been  laid.     In  the  centre  of  the 
road  stood  an  enormous  tulip-tree,  which  towered  like  a  giant 
above  all  the  other  trees  of  the  neighborhood,  and    formed 
a  kind  of  landmark.     Its  limbs  were  gnarled,  and  fantastic, 
large  enough  to  form  trunks  for  ordinary  trees,  twisting  down 
almost  to  the  earth,  and  rising  again  into  the  air.     It  was 
connected  with  the  tragical  story  of  the  unfortunate  Andre*, 
who  had  been  taken  prisoner  hard  by;   and  was  universally 
known  by  the  name  of  Major  Andre's  tree.     The  common 
people  regarded  it  with  a  mixture  of  respect  and  superstition, 
partly  out  of  sympathy  for  the  fate  of  its  ill-starred  name 
sake,  and  partly  from  the  tales  of  strange  sights  and  doleful 
lamentations  told  concerning  it. 

58.  As  Ichabod  approached  this  fearful  tree,  he  began  to 


324  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

whistle :  he  thought  his  whistle  was  answered,  —  it  was  but 
a  blast  sweeping  sharply  through  the  dry  branches.  As  he 
approached  a  little  nearer,  he  thought  he  saw  something  white, 
hanging  in  the  midst  of  the  tree,  —  he  paused  and  ceased 
whistling;  but  on  looking  more  narrowly,  perceived  that  it 
was  a  place  where  the  tree  had  been  scathed  by  lightning, 
and  the  white  wood  laid  bare.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  groan,  — 
his  teeth  chattered  and  his  knees  smote  against  the  saddle : 
it  was  but  the  rubbing  of  one  huge  bough  upon  another,  as 
they  were  swayed  about  by  the  breeze.  He  passed  the  tree 
in  safety;  but  new  perils  lay  before  him. 

59.  About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  tree  a  small  brook 
crossed  the  road,  and  ran  into  a  marshy  and  thickly  wooded 
glen,  known  by  the  name  of  Wiley's  swamp.    A  few  rough 
logs,  laid  side  by  side,  served  for  a  bridge  over  this  stream, 
On  that  side  of  the  road  where  the  brook  entered  the  wood, 
a  group  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  matted  thick  with  wild  grape 
vines,  threw  a  cavernous  gloom  over  it.     To  pass  this  bridge 
was  the  severest  trial.     It  was  at  this  identical  spot  that  the 
unfortunate  Andre  was  captured,  and  under  the  covert  of  those 
chestnuts  and  vines  were  the  sturdy  yeomen  concealed  who 
surprised  him.     This  has  ever  since  been  considered  a  haunted 
stream,  and  fearful  are  the  feelings  of  the  school  boy  who  has 
to  pass  it  alone  after  dark. 

60.  As  he  approached  the   stream,   his  heart  began  to 
thump ;  he  summoned  up,  however,  all  his  resolution,  gave  his 
horse  half  a  score  of  kicks  in  the  ribs,  and  attempted  to  dash 
briskly  across  the  bridge ;  but  instead  of  starting  forward,  the 
perverse  old  animal  made  a  lateral  movement,  and  ran  broad 
side  against  the  fence.     Ichabod,  whose  fears  increased  with 
the  delay,  jerked  the  reins  on  the  other  side,  and  kicked  lustily 
with  the  contrary  foot :  it  was  all  in  vain ;  his  steed  started, 
it  is  true,  but  it  was  only  to  plunge  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
road  into  a  thicket  of  brambles  and  alder  bushes.     The  school 
master  now  bestowed  both  whip  and  heel  upon  the  starveling 
ribs  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  dashed  forward,  snuffling  and 
snorting,  but  came  to  a  stand  just  by  the  bridge,  with  a  sud 
denness  that  had  nearly  sent  his  rider  sprawling  over  his  head. 


THE  LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  325 

Just  at  this  moment  a  plashy  tramp  by  the  side  of  the  bridge 
caught  the  sensitive  ear  of  Ichabod.  In  the  dark  shadow  of 
the  grove,  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  he  beheld  something 
huge,  misshapen,  black,  and  towering.  It  stirred  not,  but 
Deemed  gathered  up  in  the  gloom,  like  some  gigantic  monster 
ready  to  spring  upon  the  traveller. 

61.  The  hair  of  the  affrighted  pedagogue  rose  upon  his 
head  with  terror.     What  was  to  be  done?    To  turn  and  fly 
was  now  too  late;    and  besides,  what  chance  was  there  of 
escaping  ghost  or  goblin,  if  such  it  was,  which  could  ride  upon 
the  wings  of  the  wind?     Summoning  up,  therefore,  a  show 
of  courage,  he  demanded  in  stammering  accents  —  "Who  are 
you?"     He  received  no  reply.     He  repeated  his  demand  in  a 
still  more  agitated  voice.     Still  there  was  no  answer.     Once 
more  he  cudgelled  the  sides  of  the  inflexible  Gunpowder,  and, 
shutting  his  eyes,  broke  forth  with  involuntary  fervor  into  a 
psalm-tune.      Just  then  the  shadowy   object  of  alarm  put 
itself  in  motion,  and,  with  a  scramble  and  a  bound,  stood  at 
once  in  the  middle  of  the  road.     Though  the  night  was  dark 
and  dismal,  yet  the  form  of  the  unknown  might  now  in  some 
degree  be  ascertained.     He  appeared  to  be  a  horseman  of 
large  dimensions,  and  mounted  on  a  black  horse  of  powerful 
frame.     He  made  no  offer  of  molestation  or  sociability,  but 
kept  aloof  on  one  side  of  the  road,  jogging  along  on  the  blind 
side  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  had  now  got  over  his  fright  and 
waywardness. 

62.  Ichabod,  who  had  no  relish  for  this  strange  midnight 
companion,  and  bethought  himself  of  the  adventure  of  Brom 
Bones  with  the  Galloping  Hessian,  now  quickened  his  steed, 
in  hopes  of  leaving  him  behind.     The  stranger,  however, 
quickened  his  horse  to  an  equal  pace.     Ichabod  pulled  up, 
and  fell  into  a  walk,  thinking  to  lag  behind,  —  the  other  did 
the  same.     His  heart  began  to  sink  within  him ;  he  endeavored 
to  resume  his  psalm-tune,  but  his  parched  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could  not  utter  a  stave.     There  was 
something  in  the  moody  and  dogged  silence  of  this  pertina 
cious  companion,  that  was  mysterious  and  appalling.     It  was 
soon  fearfully  accounted  for.     On  mounting  a  rising  ground, 


326  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

which  brought  the  figure  of  his  fellow-traveller  in  relief  against 
the  sky,  gigantic  in  height,  and  muffled  in  a  cloak,  Ichabod 
was  horror-struck,  on  perceiving  that  he  was  headless !  — • 
but  his  horror  was  still  more  increased,  on  observing  that  the 
head,  which  should  have  rested  on  his  shoulders,  was  carried 
before  him  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle :  his  terror  rose  to 
desperation ;  he  rained  a  shower  of  kicks  and  blows  upon  Gun 
powder,  hoping,  by  a  sudden  movement,  to  give  his  compan 
ion  the  slip,  — but  the  spectre  started  full  jump  with  him. 
Away  then  they  dashed,  through  thick  and  thin ;  stones  flying, 
and  sparks  flashing  at  every  bound.  Ichabod's  flimsy  gar 
ments  fluttered  in  the  air,  as  he  stretched  his  long  lank  body 
away  over  his  horse's  head,  in  the  eagerness  of  his  flight. 

63.  They  had  now  reached  the  road  which  turns  off  to 
Sleepy  Hollow ;  but  Gunpowder,  who  seemed  possessed  with 
a  demon,  instead  of  keeping  up  it,  made  an  opposite  turn, 
and  plunged  headlong  downhill  to  the  left.     This  road  leads 
through  a  sandy  hollow,  shaded  by  trees  for  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  where  it  crosses  the  bridge  famous  in  goblin  story,  and 
just  beyond  swells  the  green  knoll  on  which  stands  the  white 
washed  church. 

64.  As  yet  the  panic  of  the  steed  had  given  his  unskilful 
rider  an  apparent  advantage  in  the  chase ;  but  just  as  he  had 
got  half-way  through  the  hollow,  the  girths  of  the  saddle  gave 
way,  and  he  felt  it  slipping  from  under  him.     He  seized  it  by 
the  pommel,  and  endeavored  to  hold  it  firm,  but  in  vain ;  and 
had  just  time  to  save  himself  by  clasping  old  Gunpowder 
round  the  neck,  when  the  saddle  fell  to  the  earth,  and  he 
heard  it  trampled  underfoot  by  his  pursuer.     For  a  moment 
the  terror  of  Hans  Van  Ripper's  wrath  passed  across  his  mind 
—  for  it  was  his  Sunday  saddle ;   but  this  was  no  time  for 
petty  fears ;  the  goblin  was  hard  on  his  haunches ;  and  (un 
skilful  rider  that  he  was !)  he  had  much  ado  to  maintain  his 
seat ;  sometimes  slipping  on  one  side,  sometimes  on  another, 
and  sometimes  jolted  on  the  high  ridge  of  his  horse's  back 
bone,  with  a  violence  that  he  verily  feared  would  cleave  him 
asunder. 

65.  An  opening  in  the  trees  now  cheered  him  with  the 


THE   LEGEND    OF    SLEEPY    HOLLOW 


327 


hopes  that  the  church-bridge  was  at  hand.  The  wavering 
reflection  of  a  silver  star  in  the  bosom  of  the  brook  told  him 
that  he  was  not  mistaken.  He  saw  the  walls  of  the  church 
dimly  glaring  under  the  trees  beyond.  He  recollected  the 
place  where  Brom  Bones 's  ghostly  competitor  had  disap 
peared.  "If  I  can  but  reach  that  bridge,"  thought  Ichabod, 
"  I  am  safe."  Just  then  he  heard  the  black  steed  panting  and 


ICHABOD  AND  THE  HEADLESS  HORSEMAN 
From  the  engraving  by  Charles  O.  Murray 


blowing  close  behind  him;  he  even  fancied  that  he  felt  his 
hot  breath.  Another  convulsive  kick  in  the  ribs,  and  old 
Gunpowder  sprang  upon  the  bridge ;  he  thundered  over  the 
resounding  planks;  he  gained  the  opposite  side;  and  now 
Ichabod  cast  a  look  behind  to  see  if  his  pursuer  should  vanish, 
according  to  rule,  in  a  flash  of  fire  and  brimstone.  Just  then 
he  saw  the  goblin  rising  in  his  stirrups,  and  in  the  very  act  of 
hurling  his  head  at  him.  Ichabod  endeavored  to  dodge  the 
horrible  missile,  but  too  late.  It  encountered  his  cranium  with 


328  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

a  tremendous  crash,  —  he  was  tumbled  headlong  into  the 
dust,  and  Gunpowder,  the  black  steed,  and  the  goblin  rider, 
passed  by  like  a  whirlwind. 

66.  The  next  morning  the  old  horse  was  found  without  his 
saddle,  and  with  the  bridle  under  his  feet,  soberly  cropping 
the  grass  at  his  master's  gate.    Ichabod  did  not  make  his  ap 
pearance  at  breakfast ;  —  dinner-hour  came,  but  no  Ichabod. 
The  boys  assembled  at  the  school-house,  and  strolled  idly 
about  the  banks  of  the  brook;   but  no  schoolmaster.     Hans 
Van  Ripper  now  began  to  feel  some  uneasiness  about  the  fate 
of  poor  Ichabod,  and  his  saddle.     An  inquiry  was  set  on  foot, 
and  after  diligent  investigation  they  came  upon  his  traces.     In 
one  part  of  the  road  leading  to  the  church  was  found  the 
saddle  trampled  in  the  dirt ;  the  tracks  of  horses'  hoofs  deeply 
dented  in  the  road,  and  evidently  at  furious  speed,  were  traced 
to  the  bridge,  beyond  which,  on  the  bank  of  a  broad  part  of 
the  brook,  where  the  water  ran  deep  and  black,  was  found  the 
hat  of  the  unfortunate  Ichabod,  and  close  beside  it  a  shattered 
pumpkin. 

67.  The  brook  was  searched,  but  the  body  of  the  school 
master  was  not  to  be  discovered.     Hans  Van  Ripper,  as 
executor  of  his  estate,  examined  the  bundle  which  contained 
all  his  worldly  effects.     They   consisted  of  two   shirts  and 
a  half ;  two  stocks  for  the  neck ;  a  pair  or  two  of  worsted 
stockings;  an  old  pair  of  corduroy  small-clothes;  a   rusty 
razor;    a   book    of    psalm-tunes,    full   of    dogs'   ears,    and 
a  broken  pitchpipe.     As  to  the  books  and  furniture  of  the 
school-house,  they  belonged  to  the  community,  excepting 
Cotton  Mather's  "History  of  Witchcraft,"  a  "New  England 
Almanac,"  and  a  book  of  dreams  and  fortune-telling;    in 
which  last  was  a  sheet  of  foolscap  much  scribbled  and  blotted 
in  several  fruitless  attempts  to  make  a  copy  of  verses  in 
honor  of  the  heiress  of  Van  Tassel.     These  magic  books  and 
the  poetic  scrawl  were  forthwith  consigned  to  the  flames  by 
Hans  Van  Ripper;   who  from  that  time  forward  determined 
to  send  his  children  no  more  to  school;   observing,  that  he 
never  knew  any  good  come  of  this  same  reading  and  writing. 
Whatever  money  the  schoolmaster  possessed,  and  he  had 


THE   LEGEND   OF   SLEEPY   HOLLOW  329 

received  his  quarter's  pay  but  a  day  or  two  before,  he  must 
have  had  about  his  person  at  the  time  of  his  disappearance. 

68.  The  mysterious  event  caused  much  speculation  at  the 
church  on  the  following  Sunday.     Knots  of  gazers  and  gossips 
were  collected  in  the  churchyard,  at  the  bridge,  and  at  the 
spot  where  the  hat  and  pumpkin  had  been  found.     The  stories 
of  Brouwer,  of  Bones,  and  a  whole  budget  of  others,  were 
called  to  mind;    and  when  they  had  diligently  considered 
them  all,  and  compared  them  with  the  symptoms  of  the  present 
case,  they  shook  their  heads,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Ichabod  had  been  carried  off  by  the  Galloping  Hessian.     As 
he  was  a  bachelor,  and  in  nobody's  debt,  nobody  troubled 
his  head  any  more  about  him.     The  school  was  removed  to 
a  different  quarter  of  the  Hollow,  and  another  pedagogue 
reigned  in  his  stead. 

69.  It  is  true,  an  old  farmer,  who  had  been  down  to  New 
York  on  a  visit  several  years  after,  and  from  whom  this  ac 
count  of  the  ghostly  adventure  was  received,  brought  home 
the  intelligence  that  Ichabod  Crane  was  still  alive :   that  he 
had  left  the  neighborhood,  partly  through  fear  of  the  goblin 
and  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  partly  in  mortification  at  having 
been  suddenly  dismissed  by  the  heiress ;  that  he  had  changed 
his  quarters  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country ;  had  kept  school 
and  studied  law  at  the  same  time,  had  been  admitted  to  the 
bar,  turned  politician,  electioneered,  written  for  the  news 
papers,  and  finally  had  been  made  a  justice  of  the  Ten  Pound 
Court.     Brom  Bones  too,  who  shortly  after  his  rival's  dis 
appearance  conducted  the  blooming  Katrina  in  triumph  to 
the  altar,  was  observed   to   look  exceeding  knowing  when 
ever  the  story  of  Ichabod  was  related,  and  always  burst  into 
a  hearty  laugh  at  the  mention  of  the  pumpkin;   which  led 
some  to  suspect  that  he  knew  more  about  the  matter  than  he 
chose  to  tell. 

70.  The  old  country  wives,  however,  who  are  the  best 
judges  of  these  matters,  maintain  to  this  day  that  Ichabod 
was  spirited  away  by  supernatural  means ;  and  it  is  a  favorite 
story  often  told  about  the  neighborhood  round  the  winter 
evening  fire.    The  bridge  became  more  than  ever  an  object 


330  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  superstitious  awe,  and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  the  road 
has  been  altered  of  late  years,  so  as  to  approach  the  church 
by  the  border  of  the  mill-pond.  The  school-house,  being 
deserted,  soon  fell  to  decay,  and  was  reported  to  be  haunted 
by  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate  pedagogue ;  and  the  plough- 
boy,  loitering  homeward  of  a  still  summer  evening,  has  often 
fancied  his  voice  at  a  distance,  chanting  a  melancholy  psalm- 
tune  among  the  tranquil  solitudes  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

POSTSCRIPT, 

FOUND   IN   THE   HANDWRITING   OF  MR.   KNICKERBOCKER 

The  preceding  Tale  is  given,  almost  in  the  precise  words  in  which 
I  heard  it  related  at  a  Corporation  meeting  of  the  ancient  city  of 
Manhattoes,  at  which  were  present  many  of  its  sagest  and  most  illus 
trious  burghers.  The  narrator  was  a  pleasant,  shabby,  gentlemanly 
old  fellow,  in  pepper-and-salt  clothes,  with  a  sadly  humorous  face; 
and  one  whom  I  strongly  suspected  of  being  poor,  —  he  made  such 
efforts  to  be  entertaining.  When  his  story  was  concluded,  there  was 
much  laughter  and  approbation,  particularly  from  two  or  three  deputy 
aldermen,  who  had  been  asleep  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  There  was, 
however,  one  tall,  dry-looking  old  gentleman,  with  beetling  eyebrows, 
who  maintained  a  grave  and  rather  severe  face  throughout;  now 
and  then  folding  his  arms,  inclining  his  head,  and  looking  down  upon 
the  floor,  as  if  turning  a  doubt  over  in  his  mind.  He  was  one  of  your 
wary  men,  who  never  laugh,  but  on  good  grounds  —  when  they  have 
reason  and  the  law  on  their  side.  When  the  mirth  of  the  rest  of  the 
company  had  subsided  and  silence  was  restored,  he  leaned  one  arm  on 
the  elbow  of  his  chair,  and  sticking  the  other  akimbo,  demanded,  with 
a  slight  but  exceedingly  sage  motion  of  the  head,  and  contraction  of 
the  brow,  what  was  the  moral  of  the  story,  and  what  it  went  to  prove  ? 

The  story-teller,  who  was  just  putting  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  as 
a  refreshment  after  his  toils,  paused  for  a  moment,  looked  at  his  in 
quirer  with  an  air  of  infinite  deference,  and,  lowering  the  glass  slowly 
to  the  table,  observed,  that  the  story  was  intended  most  logically 
to  prove : 

"That  there  is  no  situation  in  life  but  has  its  advantages  and  pleas 
ures  —  provided  we  will  but  take  a  joke  as  we  find  it : 

"That,  therefore,  he  that  runs  races  with  goblin  troopers  is  likely 
to  have  rough  riding  of  it. 

"Ergo,  for  a  country  schoolmaster  to  be  refused  the  hand  of  a 
Dutch  heiress,  is  a  certain  step  to  high  preferment  in  the  state." 

The  cautious  old  gentleman  knit  his  brows  tenfold  closer  after 
this  explanation,  being  sorely  puzzled  by  the  ratiocination  of  the 
syllogism ;  while,  methought,  the  one  in  pepper-and-salt  eyed  him 
with  something  of  a  triumphant  leer.  At  length  he  observed,  that  all 
this  was  very  well,  but  still  he  thought  the  story  a  little  on  the  extrav 
agant  —  there  were  one  or  two  points  on  which  he  had  his  doubts. 

"Faith,  sir,"  replied  the  story-teller,  "as  to  that  matter  I  don't 
believe  one  half  of  it  myself. "  D.  K. 


THE  INN  KITCHEN 

[NOTE.  —  The  story  of  "The  Spectre  Bridegroom"  is  included 
in  this  edition  as  supplementary  reading.  The  plan  of  arrange 
ment  and  composition  is  similar  to  the  plan  used  in  Irving's 
other  stories,  and  if  there  is  time  for  careful  study  of  the  nar 
rative  it  offers  an  excellent  opportunity  for  an  original  experi 
ment  on  the  part  of  the  teacher,  who  will  be  able  to  arrange  a 
plan  of  study  similar  in  character  to  the  Study  of  "Rip  Van 
Winkle"  or  of  "The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  but  varied 
to  meet  special  requirements  in  his  own  class.  It  must  not, 
however,  be  forgotten  that  the  exciting  of  interest  is  but 
one  of  several  important  objects  to  be  gained  in  any  plan 
for  the  study  of  a  particular  narrative.  In  the  end,  the 
author's  purpose  in  the  story  must  be  made  clear,  and  essen 
tial  features  of  the  development  must  be  emphasized,  rather 
than  incidental,  or  merely  striking  matters. 

"  The  Inn  Kitchen  "  is  a  charming  picture  of  homely  comfort 
and  pleasures,  and  it  serves  as  the  background  for  a  tale  that 
would  otherwise  seem  to  have  been  introduced  without  suffi 
cient  excuse.  For  a  different  description  of  a  group  gathered  on 
a  stormy  night  in  an  inn  kitchen,  see  Dickens's  account  of  how 
David  Copperfield  passed  the  night  before  the  great  storm  in  a 
Yarmouth  hostelry.  D.] 

Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn  ? 

—  FALSTAFF. 

1.  During  a  journey  that  I  once  made  through  the  Nether 
lands,  I  had  arrived  one  evening  at  the  Pomme  d'Or,  the  prin 
cipal  inn  of  a  small  Flemish  village.  It  was  after  the  hour 
of  the  table  d'hote,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  make  a  solitary 
supper  from  the  relics  of  its  ampler  board.  The  weather  was 
chilly ;  I  was  seated  alone  in  one  end  of  a  great  gloomy  dining- 
room,  and,  my  repast  being  over,  I  had  the  prospect  before 
me  of  a  long  dull  evening,  without  any  visible  means  of 
enlivening  it.  I  summoned  mine  host,  and  requested  some 
thing  to  read ;  he  brought  me  the  whole  literary  stock  of  his 
household,  a  Dutch  family  Bible,  an  almanac  in  the  same 
language,  and  a  number  of  old  Paris  newspapers.  As  I  sat 

331 


332  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

dozing  over  one  of  the  latter,  reading  old  and  stale  criticisms, 
my  ear  was  now  and  then  struck  with  bursts  of  laughter 
which  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  kitchen.  Every  one  that 
has  travelled  on  the  continent  must  know  how  favorite  a  re 
sort  the  kitchen  of  a  country  inn  is  to  the  middle  and  inferior 
order  of  travellers;  particularly  in  that  equivocal  kind  of 
weather,  when  a  fire  becomes  agreeable  toward  evening.  I 
threw  aside  the  newspaper,  and  explored  my  way  to  the  kit 
chen,  to  take  a  peep  at  the  group  that  appeared  to  be  so 
merry.  It  was  composed  partly  of  travellers  who  had  ar 
rived  some  hours  before  in  a  diligence,  and  partly  of  the  usual 
attendants  and  hangers-on  of  inns.  They  were  seated  round 
a  great  burnished  stove,  that  might  have  been  mistaken  for 
an  altar,  at  which  they  were  worshipping.  It  was  covered 
with  various  kitchen  vessels  of  resplendent  brightness ;  among 
which  steamed  and  hissed  a  huge  copper  tea-kettle.  A  large 
lamp  threw  a  strong  mass  of  light  upon  the  group,  bringing 
out  many  odd  features  in  strong  relief.  Its  yellow  rays  par 
tially  illumined  the  spacious  kitchen,  dying  duskily  away  into 
remote  corners,  except  where  they  settled  in  mellow  radiance 
on  the  broad  side  of  a  flitch  of  bacon,  or  were  reflected  back 
from  well-scoured  utensils,  that  gleamed  from  the  midst  of 
obscurity.  A  strapping  Flemish  lass,  with  long  golden 
pendants  in  her  ears,  and  a  necklace  with  a  golden  heart  sus 
pended  to  it,  was  the  presiding  priestess  of  the  temple. 

2.  Many  of  the  company  were  furnished  with  pipes,  and 
most  of  them  with  some  kind  of  evening  potation.     I  found 
their  mirth  was  occasioned  by  anecdotes,  which  a  little  swarthy 
Frenchman,  with  a  dry  weazen  face  and  large  whiskers,  was 
giving  of  his  love  adventures ;  at  the  end  of  each  of  which  there 
was  one  of  those  bursts  of  honest  unceremonious  laughter,  in 
which  a  man  indulges  in  that  temple  of  true  liberty,  an  inn. 

3.  As  I  had  no  better  mode  of  getting  through  a  tedious 
blustering  evening,  I  took  my  seat  near  the  stove,  and  listened 
to  a  variety  of  traveller's  tales,  some  very  extravagant,  and 
most  very  dull.     All  of  them,  however,  have  faded  from  my 
treacherous  memory  except  one,  which  I  will  endeavor  to 
relate.     I  fear,  however,  it  derived  its  chief  zest  from  the 


THE  INN   KITCHEN  333 

manner  in  which  it  was  told,  and  the  peculiar  air  and  ap 
pearance  of  the  narrator.  He  was  a  corpulent  old  Swiss,  who 
had  the  look  of  a  veteran  traveller.  He  was  dressed  in  a  tar 
nished  green  travelling-jacket,  with  a  broad  belt  round  his 
waist,  and  a  pair  of  overalls,  with  buttons  from  the  hips  to 
the  ankles.  He  was  of  a  full,  rubicund  countenance,  with  a 
double  chin,  aquiline  nose,  and  a  pleasant,  twinkling  eye. 
His  hair  was  light,  and  curled  from  under  an  old  green  velvet 
travelling-cap  stuck  on  one  side  of  his  head.  He  was  inter 
rupted  more  than  once  by  the  arrival  of  guests,  or  the  remarks 
of  his  auditors;  and  paused  now  and  then  to  replenish  his 
pipe ;  at  which  times  he  had  generally  a  roguish  leer,  and  a  sly 
joke  for  the  buxom  kitchen-maid. 

4.  I  wish  my  readers  could  imagine  the  old  fellow  lolling 
in  a  huge  arm-chair,  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  holding  a 
curiously  twisted  tobacco-pipe,  formed  of  genuine  ecume  de 
mer,  decorated  with  silver  chain  and  silken  tassel,  —  his  head 
cocked  on  one  side,  and  a  whimsical  cut  of  the  eye  occasion 
ally,  as  he  related  the  following  story. 


THE  SPECTRE  BRIDEGROOM 
A  TRAVELLER'S  TALE1 

He  that  supper  for  is  dight, 
He  lyes  full  cold,  I  trow,  this  night ! 
Yestreen  to  chamber  I  him  led, 
This  night  Gray-Steel  has  made  his  bed. 
—  SIR  EGER,  SIR  GRAHAME,  AND  SIR  GRAY  STEEL. 

1.  On  the  summit  of  one  of  the  heights  of  the  Odenwald, 
a  wild  and  romantic  tract  of  Upper  Germany,  that  lies  not  far 
from  the  confluence  of  the  Main  and  the  Rhine,  there  stood, 
many,  many  years  since,  the  Castle  of  the  Baron  Von  Land- 
short.     It  is  now  quite  fallen  to  decay,  and  almost  buried 
among  beech-trees  and  dark  firs;   above  which,  however,  its 
old  watch-tower  may  still  be  seen,  struggling,  like  the  former 
possessor  I  have  mentioned,  to  carry  a  high  head,  and  look 
down  upon  the  neighboring  country. 

2.  The  baron  was  a  dry  branch  of  the  great  family  of 
Katzenellenbogen,2  and  inherited  the  relics  of  the  property, 
and  all  the  pride  of  his  ancestors.     Though  the  warlike  dis 
position  of  his  predecessors  had  much  impaired  the  family 
possessions,  yet  the  baron  still  endeavored  to  keep  up  some 
show  of  former  state.     The  times  were  peaceable,  and  the 
German  nobles,  in  general,  had  abandoned  their  inconvenient 
old  castles,  perched  like  eagles'  nests  among  the  mountains, 
and  had  built  more  convenient  residences  in  the  valleys  :  still 
the  baron  remained  proudly  drawn  up  in  his  little  fortress, 
cherishing,  with  hereditary  inveterancy,  all  the  old  family 

lrThe  erudite  reader,  well  versed  in  good-for-nothing  lore,  will 
perceive  that  the  above  Tale  must  have  been  suggested  to  the  old 
Swiss  by  a  little  French  anecdote,  a  circumstance  said  to  have  taken 
place  at  Paris. 

2  I.e.  CAT'S-ELBOW.  The  name  of  a  family  of  those  parts  very 
powerful  in  former  times.  The  appellation,  we  are  told,  was  given  in 
compliment  to  a  peerless  dame  of  the  family,  celebrated  for  her  fine 
arm. 

334 


THE   SPECTRE   BRIDEGROOM  335 

feuds;  so  that  he  was  on  ill  terms  with  some  of  his  nearest 
neighbors,  on  account  of  disputes  that  had  happened  between 
their  great-great-grandfathers. 

3 .  The  baron  had  but  one  child,  a  daughter ;  but  nature,  when 
she  grants  but  one  child,  always  compensates  by  making  it  a 
prodigy;  and  so  it  was  with  the  daughter  of  the  baron.     All 
the  nurses,  gossips,  and  country  cousins  assured  her  father 
that  she  had  not  her  equal  for  beauty  in  all  Germany;   and 
who  should  know  better  than  they  ?     She  had,  moreover,  been 
brought  up  with    great  care  under   the  superintendence  of 
two  maiden  aunts,  who  had  spent  some  years  of  their  early 
life  at  one  of  the  little  German  courts,  and  were  skilled  in  all 
the  branches  of  knowledge  necessary  to  the  education  of  a  fine 
lady.     Under  their  instructions  she  became  a  miracle  of  ac 
complishments.     By  the  time  she  was  eighteen,  she  could 
embroider  to  admiration,  and  had  worked  whole  histories 
of  the  saints  in  tapestry,  with  such  strength  of  expression  in 
their  countenances,  that  they  looked  like  so  many  souls  in 
purgatory.      She  could  read  without  great  difficulty,  and  had 
spelled  her  way  through  several  church  legends,  and  almost  all 
the  chivalric  wonders  of  the   Heldenbuch.     She  had  even 
made  considerable  proficiency  in  writing ;  could  sign  her  own 
name  without  missing  a  letter,  and  so  legibly,  that  her  aunts 
could  read  it  without  spectacles.     She  excelled  in  making  little 
elegant  good-for-nothing  lady-like  knickknacks  of  all  kinds; 
was  versed  in  the  most  abstruse  dancing  of  the  day ;  played 
a  number  of  airs  on  the  harp  and  guitar;   and  knew  all  the 
tender  ballads  of  the  Minnelieders  by  heart. 

4.  Her  aunts,  too,  having  been  great  flirts  and  coquettes  in 
their  younger  days,  were  admirably  calculated  to  be  vigilant 
guardians  and  strict  censors  of  the  conduct  of  their  niece; 
for  there  is  no  duenna  so  rigidly  prudent,  and  inexorably  de 
corous,  as  a  superannuated  coquette.     She  was  rarely  suf 
fered  out  of  their  sight ;  never  went  beyond  the  domains  of  the 
castle,  unless  well  attended,  or  rather  well  watched;    had 
continual  lectures  read  to  her  about  strict  decorum  and  im 
plicit  obedience ;  and,  as  to  the  men —  pah  !  —  she  was  taught 
to  hold  them  at  such  a  distance,  and  in  such  absolute  dis- 


336  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

trust,  that,  unless  properly  authorized,  she  would  not  have 
cast  a  glance  upon  the  handsomest  cavalier  in  the  world  — 
no,  not  if  he  were  even  lying  at  her  feet. 

5.  The  good  effects  of  this  system  were  wonderfully  ap 
parent.     The  young  lady  was  a  pattern  of  docility  and  correct 
ness.     While  others  were  wasting  their  sweetness  in  the  glare 
of  the  world,  and  liable  to  be  plucked  and  thrown  aside  by 
every  hand,  she  was  coyly  blooming  into  fresh  and  lovely 
womanhood  under  the  protection  of  those  immaculate  spin 
sters  like  a  rose-bud  blushing  forth  among  guardian  thorns. 
Her  aunts  looked  upon  her  with  pride  and  exultation,  and 
vaunted  that  though  all  the  other  young  ladies  in  the  world 
might  go  astray,  yet,  thank  Heaven,  nothing  of  the  kind  could 
happen  to  the  heiress  of  Katzenellenbogen. 

6.  But,  however  scantily  the  Baron  Von  Landshort  might 
be  provided  with  children,  his  household  was  by  no  means  a 
small  one ;  for  Providence  had  enriched  him  with  abundance 
of  poor  relations.     They,  one  and  all,  possessed  the  affec 
tionate  disposition  common  to  humble  relatives ;  were  wonder 
fully  attracted  to  the  baron,  and  took  every  possible  occasion 
to  come  in  swarms  and  enliven  the  castle.     All  family  festivals 
were  commemorated  by  these  good  people  at  the  baron's 
expense;    and  when  they  were  filled  with  good  cheer,  they 
would  declare  that  there  was  nothing  on  earth  so  delightful 
as  these  family  meetings,  these  jubilees  of  the  heart. 

7.  The  baron,  though  a  small  man,  had  a  large  soul,  and 
it  swelled  with  satisfaction  at  the  consciousness  of  being  the 
greatest  man  in  the  little  world  about  him.     He  loved  to  tell 
long  stories  about  the  dark  old  warriors  whose  portraits  looked 
grimly  down  from  the  walls  around,  and  he  found  no  listeners 
equal  to  those  who  fed  at  his  expense.     He  was  much  given 
to  the  marvellous,  and  a  firm  believer  in  all  those  supernatural 
tales  with  which  every  mountain  and  valley  in  Germany 
abounds.     The  faith  of  his  guests  exceeded  even  his  own, 
they  listened  to  every  tale  of  wonder  with  open  eyes  and 
mouth,  and  never  failed  to  be  astonished,  even  though  re 
peated  for  the  hundredth  time.     Thus  lived  the  Baron  Von 
Landshort,  the  oracle  of  his  table,  the  absolute  monarch  of  his 


THE   SPECTRE  BRIDEGROOM  337 

little  territory,  and  happy,  above  all  things,  in  the  persuasion 
that  he  was  the  wisest  man  of  the  age. 

8.  At  the  time  of  which  my  story  treats,  there  was  a  great 
family-gathering  at  the  castle,  on  an  affair  of  the  utmost  im 
portance  :   it  was  to  receive  the  destined  bridegroom  of  the 
baron's  daughter.    A  negotiation  had  been  carried  on  between 
the  father  and  an  old  nobleman  of  Bavaria,  to  unite  the  dig 
nity  of  their  houses  by  the  marriage  of  their  children.      The 
preliminaries   had   been    conducted   with   proper   punctilio. 
The  young  people  were  betrothed  without  seeing  each  other ; 
and  the  time  was  appointed  for  the  marriage   ceremony. 
The  young  Count  Von  Altenburg  had  been  recalled  from  the 
army  for  the  purpose,  and  was  actually  on  his  way  to  the 
baron's  to  receive  his  bride.     Missives  had  even  been  received 
from  him,  from  Wtirtzburg,  where  he  was  accidentally  de 
tained,  mentioning  the  day   and  hour  when  he  might  be 
expected  to  arrive. 

9.  The  castle  was  in  a  tumult  of  preparation  to  give  him 
a  suitable  welcome.     The  fair  bride  had  been  decked  out  with 
uncommon   care.     The   two   aunts   had   superintended   her 
toilet,  and  quarrelled  the  whole  morning  about  every  article 
of  her  dress.     The  young  lady  had  taken  advantage  of  their 
contest  to  follow  the  bent  of  her  own  taste ;  and  fortunately 
it  was  a  good  one.      She  looked  as  lovely  as  youthful  bride 
groom  could  desire ;  and  the  flutter  of  expectation  heightened 
the  lustre  of  her  charms. 

10.  The  suffusions  that   mantled   her  face  and  neck,  the 
gentle  heaving  of  the  bosom,  the  eye  now  and  then  lost  in 
reverie,  all  betrayed  the  soft  tumult  that  was  going  on  in  her 
little  heart.    The  aunts  were  continually  hovering  around  her ; 
for  maiden  aunts  are  apt  to  take  great  interest  in  affairs  of 
this  nature.     They  were  giving  her  a  world  of  staid  counsel 
how  to  deport  herself,  what  to  say,  and  in  what  manner  to 
receive  the  expected  lover. 

1 1 .  The  baron  was  no  less  busied  in  preparations.     He  had, 
in  truth,  nothing  exactly  to  do ;  but  he  was  naturally  a  fum 
ing,  bustling  little  man,  and  could  not  remain  passive  when 
all  the  world  was  in  a  hurry.     He  worried  from  top  to  bottom 


338  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

of  the  castle  with  an  air  of  infinite  anxiety;  he  continually 
called  the  servants  from  their  work  to  exhort  them  to  be  dili 
gent  ;  and  buzzed  about  every  hall  and  chamber,  as  idly  rest- 
les's  and  importunate  as  a  blue-bottle  fly  on  a  warm  summer's 
day. 

12.  In  the  mean  time  the  fatted  calf  had  been  killed ;  the 
forests  had  rung  with  the   clamor  of  the  huntsmen;    the 
kitchen  was  crowded  with  good  cheer ;  the  cellars  had  yielded 
up  whole  oceans  of  Rhein-wein  and  Ferne-wein;  and  even 
the  great  Heidelberg  tun  had  been  laid  under  contribution. 
Everything  was  ready  to  receive  the  distinguished  guest  with 
Saus  und  Braus  in  the  true  spirit  of  German  hospitality ;  — 
but  the  guest  delayed  to  make  his  appearance.     Hour  rolled 
after  hour.    The  sun,  that  had  poured  his  downward  rays 
upon  the  rich  forest  of  the  Odenwald,  now  just  gleamed  along 
the  summits  of  the.  mountains.     The  Baron  mounted  the 
highest  tower,  and  strained   his  eyes  in  hope  of  catching  a 
distant  sight  of  the   count  and  his  attendants.     Once  he 
thought  he  beheld  them;   the  sound  of  horns  came  floating 
from   the   valley,   prolonged   by  the   mountain   echoes.     A 
number  of  horsemen  were  seen  far  below,  slowly  advancing 
along  the  road ;  but  when  they  had  nearly  reached  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  they  suddenly  struck  off  in  a  different  direc 
tion.    The  last  ray  of  sunshine  departed,  —  the  bats  began 
to  flit  by  in  the  twilight,  —  the  road  grew  dimmer  and  dim 
mer  to  the  view,  and  nothing  appeared  stirring  in  it  but  now 
and  then  a  peasant  lagging  homeward  from  his  labor. 

13.  While  the  old  castle  of  Landshort  was  in  this  state 
of  perplexity,  a  very  interesting  scene  was  transacting  in  a 
different  part  of  the  Odenwald. 

14.  The  young  Count  Von  Altenburg  was  tranquilly  pur 
suing  his  route  in  that  sober  jog-trot  way,  in  which  a  man 
travels  toward  matrimony  when  his  friends  have  taken  all  the 
trouble  and  uncertainty  of   courtship  off   his  hands,  and  a 
bride  is  waiting  for  him,  as  certainly  as  a  dinner  at  the  end 
of    his    journey.      He    had    encountered    at   Wiirtzburg  a 
youthful    companion    in   arms,    with    whom    he   had    seen 
some  service  on  the  frontiers,  —  Herman  Von  Starkenfaust, 


THE   SPECTRE   BRIDEGROOM  839 

one  of  the  stoutest  hands  and  worthiest  hearts  of  German 
chivalry,  who  was  now  returning  from  the  army.  His  father's 
castle  was  not  far  distant  from  the  old  fortress  of  Landshort, 
although  an  hereditary  feud  rendered  the  families  hostile,  and 
strangers  to  'each  other. 

15.  In  the  warm-hearted  moment  of  recognition,  the  young 
friends  related  all  their  past  adventures  and  fortunes,  and  the 
count  gave  the  whole  history  of  his  intended  nuptials  with  a 
young  lady  whom  he  had  never  seen,  but  of  whose  charms 
he  had  received  the  most  enrapturing  descriptions. 

16.  As  the  route  of  the  friends  lay  in  the  same  direction, 
they  agreed  to  perform  the  rest  of  their  journey  together; 
and,  that  they  might  do  it  the  more  leisurely,  set  off  from 
Wiirtzburg  at  an  early  hour,  the  count  having  given  direc 
tions  for  his  retinue  to  follow  and  overtake  him. 

17.  They  beguiled  their  wayfaring  with  recollections  of 
their  military  scenes  arid  adventures ;  but  the  count  was  apt 
to  be  a  little  tedious,  now  and  then,  about  the  reputed  charms 
of  his  bride,  and  the  felicity  that  awaited  him. 

18.  In  this  way  they  had  entered  among  the  mountains 
of  the  Odenwald,  and  were  traversing  one  of  its  most  lonely 
and  thickly-wooded  passes.     It  is  well  known  that  the  forests 
of  Germany  have  always  been  as  much  infested  by  robbers 
as   its   castles   by  spectres;   and,  at  this  time,   the  former 
were  particularly  numerous,  from  the  hordes  of  disbanded 
soldiers  wandering  about  the  country.     It  will  not  appear 
extraordinary,  therefore,  that  the  cavaliers  were  attacked  by 
a  gang  of  these  stragglers,  in  the  midst  of  the  forest.     They 
defended  themselves  with  bravery,  but  were  nearly  over 
powered,  when  the  count's  retinue  arrived  to  their  assistance. 
At  sight  of  them  the  robbers  fled,  but  not  until  the  count  had 
received  a  mortal  wound.     He  was  slowly  and  carefully  con 
veyed  back  to  the  city  of  Wiirtzburg,  and  a  friar  summoned 
from  a  neighboring  convent,  who  was  famous  for  his  skill 
in  administering  to  both  soul  and  body ;  but  half  of  his  skill 
was  superfluous ;  the  moments  of  the  unfortunate  count  were 
numbered. 

19.  With  his  dying  breath  he  entreated  his  friend  to  repair 


340  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

instantly  to  the  castle  of  Landshort,  and  explain  the  fatal 
cause  of  his  not  keeping  his  appointment  with  his  bride. 
Though  not  the  most  ardent  of  lovers,  he  was  one  of  the  most 
punctilious  of  men,  and  appeared  earnestly  solicitous  that 
his  mission  should  be  speedily  and  courteously  executed. 
"Unless  this  is  done,"  said  he,  "I  shall  not  sleep  quietly  in 
my  grave ! "  He  repeated  these  last  words  with  peculiar 
solemnity.  A  request,  at  a  moment  so  impressive,  admitted 
no  hesitation.  Starkenfaust  endeavored  to  soothe  him  to 
calmness;  promised  faithfully  to  execute  his  wish,  and  gave 
him  his  hand  in  solemn  pledge.  The  dying  man  pressed  it  in 
acknowledgment,  but  soon  lapsed  into  delirium  —  raved 
about  his  bride  —  his  engagements  —  his  plighted  word  ; 
ordered  his  horse,  that  he  might  ride  to  the  castle  of  Land- 
short;  and  expired  in  the  fancied  act  of  vaulting  into  the 
saddle. 

20.  Starkenfaust  bestowed  a  sigh  and  a  soldier's  tear  on  the 
untimely  fate  of  his  comrade ;  and  then  pondered  on  the  awk 
ward  mission  he  had  undertaken.     His  heart  was  heavy,  and 
his  head  perplexed ;  for  he  was  to  present  himself  an  unbidden 
guest  among  hostile  people,  and  to  damp  their  festivity  with 
tidings  fatal  to  their  hopes.      Still  there  were  certain  whis 
perings  of  curiosity  in  his  bosom  to  see  this  far-famed  beauty 
of  Katzenellenbogen,  so  cautiously  shut  up  from  the  world; 
for  he  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  the  sex,  and  there  was  a 
dash  of  eccentricity  and  enterprise  in  his  character  that  made 
him  fond  of  all  singular  adventure. 

21.  Previous  to  his  departure  he  made  all  due  arrange 
ments  with  the  holy  fraternity  of  the  convent  for  the  funeral 
solemnities  of  his  friend,  who  was  to  be  buried  in  the  cathedral 
of  Wiirtzburg,  near  some  of  his  illustrious  relatives ;  and  the 
mourning  retinue  of  the  count  took  charge  of  his  remains. 

22.  It  is  now  high  time  that  we  should  return  to  the  ancient 
family  of  Katzenellenbogen,  who  were  impatient  for  their 
guest,  and  still  more  for  their  dinner ;  and  to  the  worthy  little 
baron,  whom  we  left  airing  himself  on  the  watch-tower. 

23.  Night  closed  in,  but  still  no  guest  arrived.     The  baron 
descended  from  the  tower  in  despair.     The  banquet,  which 


THE   SPECTRE   BRIDEGROOM 


341 


had  been  delayed  from  hour  to  hour,  could  no  longer  be 
postponed.  The  meats  were  already  overdone;  the  cook  in 
an  agony;  and  the  whole  household  had  the  look  of  a  gar 
rison  that  had  been  reduced  by  famine.  The  baron  was 
obliged  reluctantly  to 
give  orders  for  the 
feast  without  the 
presence  of  the  guest. 
All  were  seated  at 
table,  and  just  on  the 
point  of  commencing, 
when  the  sound  of  a 
horn  from  without  the 
gate  gave  notice  of 
the  approach  of  a 
stranger.  Another 
long  blast  filled  the 
old  courts  of  the  castle 
with  its  echoes,  and 
was  answered  by  the 
warder  from  the  walls. 
The  baron  hastened 
to  receive  his  future 
son-in-law. 

24.  The  drawbridge  «HE  WAS  A  TALL>  GALLANT  CAVALIER" 
had  been  let  down,  From  the  engraving  by  Charles  O.  Murray 
and  the  stranger  was 

before  the  gate.  He  was  a  tall,  gallant  cavalier,  mounted 
on  a  black  steed.  His  countenance  was  pale,  but  he  had  a 
beaming,  romantic  eye,  and  an  air  of  stately  melancholy. 
The  baron  was  a  little  mortified  that  he  should  have  come  in 
this  simple,  solitary  style.  His  dignity  for  a  moment  was 
ruffled,  and  he  felt  disposed  to  consider  it  a  want  of  proper 
respect  for  the  important  occasion,  and  the  important  family 
with  which  he  was  to  be  connected.  He  pacified  himself, 
however,  with  the  conclusion,  that  it  must  have  been  youthful 
impatience  which  had  induced  him  thus  to  spur  on  sooner  than 
his  attendants. 


342  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

25.  "I  am  sorry,"  said  the  stranger,  "to  break  in  upon 
you  thus  unseasonably" 

26.  Here  the   baron   interrupted    him   with  a  world    of 
compliments  and  greetings ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  prided 
himself  upon  his  courtesy  and  eloquence.     The  stranger  at 
tempted,  once  or  twice,  to  stem  the  torrent  of  words,  but  in 
vain,  so  he  bowed  his  head  and  suffered  it  to  flow  on.     By  the 
time  the  baron  had  come  to  a  pause,  they  had  reached  the 
inner  court  of  the  castle ;   and  the  stranger  was  again  about 
to  speak,  when  he  was  once  more  interrupted  by  the  appear 
ance  of  the  female  part  of  the  family,  leading  forth  the  shrink 
ing  and  blushing  bride.     He  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  as  one 
entranced ;  it  seemed  as  if  his  whole  soul  beamed  forth  in  the 
gaze,  and  rested  upon  that  lovely  form.     One  of  the  maiden 
aunts  whispered  something  in  her  ear ;  she  made  an  effort  to 
speak;   her  moist  blue  eye  was  timidly  raised;   gave  a  shy 
glance  of  inquiry  on  the  stranger ;  and  was  cast  again  to  the 
ground.     The  words  died  away ;  but  there  was  a  sweet  smile 
playing  about  her  lips,  and  a  soft  dimpling  of  the  cheek  that 
showed  her  glance  had  not  been  unsatisfactory.     It  was  im 
possible  for  a  girl  of  the  fond  age  of  eighteen,  highly  pre 
disposed  for  love  and  matrimony,  not  to  be  pleased  with  so 
gallant  a  cavalier. 

27.  The  late  hour  at  which  the  guest  had  arrived  left  no 
time  for  parley.     The  baron  was  peremptory,  and  deferred  all 
particular  conversation  until  the  morning,  and  led  the  way 
to  the  untasted  banquet. 

28.  It  was  served    up   in   the   great  hall   of  the   castle. 
Around  the  walls  hung  the  hard-favored  portraits  of  the 
heroes  of  the  house  of  Katzenellenbogen,  and  the  trophies 
which  they  had  gained  in  the  field  and  in  the  chase.    Hacked 
corselets,  splintered  jousting  spears,  and  tattered   banners, 
were  mingled  with  the  spoils  of  sylvan  warfare;   the  jaws 
of  the  wolf,  and  the  tusks  of  the   boar,  grinned    horribly 
among  cross-bows  and  battle-axes,  and  a  huge  pair  of  antlers 
branched  immediately  over  the  head  of  the  youthful  bride 
groom. 

29.  The  cavalier  took  but  little  notice  of  the  company  or 


THE   SPECTRE  BRIDEGROOM  343 

the  entertainment.  He  scarcely  tasted  the  banquet,  but 
seemed  absorbed  in  admiration  of  his  bride.  He  conversed 
iri  a  low  tone  that  could  not  be  overheard  —  for  the  language 
of  love  is  never  loud ;  but  where  is  the  female  ear  so  dull  that 
it  cannot  catch  the  softest  whisper  of  the  lover  ?  There  was 
a  mingled  tenderness  and  gravity  in  his  manner,  that  appeared 
to  have  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  young  lady.  Her  color 
came  and  went  as  she  listened  with  deep  attention.  Now  and 
then  she  made  some  blushing  reply,  and  when  his  eye  was 
turned  away,  she  would  steal  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  romantic 
countenance,  and  heave  a  gentle  sigh  of  tender  happiness. 
It  was  evident  that  the  young  couple  were  completely  en 
amored.  The  aunts,  who  were  deeply  versed  in  the  mys 
teries  of  the  heart,  declared  that  they  had  fallen  in  love  with 
each  other  at  first  sight. 

30.  The  feast  went  on  merrily,  or  at  least  noisily,  for  the 
guests  were  all  blessed  with  those  keen  appetites  that  attend 
upon  light  purses  and  mountain-air.     The  baron  told  his  best 
and  longest  stories,  and  never  had  he  told  them  so  well,  or 
with  such  great  effect.     If  there  was  anything  marvellous, 
his  auditors  were  lost   in   astonishment;    and   if  anything 
facetious,  they  were  sure  to  laugh  exactly  in  the  right  place. 
The  baron,  it  is  true,  like  most  great  men,  was  too  dignified 
to  utter  any  joke  but  a  dull  one ;  it  was  always  enforced,  how 
ever,  by  a  bumper  of  excellent  Hockheimer ;  and  even  a  dull 
joke,  at  one's  own  table,  served  up  with  jolly  old  wine,  is  ir 
resistible.     Many  good  things  were  said  by  poorer  and  keener 
wits,  that  would  not  bear  repeating,  except  on  similar  oc 
casions;    many  sly  speeches  whispered  in  ladies'  ears,  that 
almost  convulsed  them  with  suppressed  laughter ;  and  a  song 
or  two  roared  out  by  a  poor,  but  merry  and  broad-faced 
cousin  of  the  baron,  that  absolutely  made  the  maiden  aunts 
hold  up  their  fans. 

31.  Amidst  all  this  revelry,  the  stranger  guest  maintained 
a  most  singular  and  unseasonable  gravity.     His  countenance 
assumed  a  deeper  cast  of  dejection  as  the  evening  advanced ; 
and,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  even  the  baron's  jokes  seemed 
only  to  render  him  the  more  melancholy.    At  times  he  wag 


344  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

lost  in  thought,  and  at  times  there  was  a  perturbed  and  restless 
wandering  of  the  eye  that  bespoke  a  mind  but  ill  at  ease.  His 
conversations  with  the  bride  became  more  and  more  earnest 
and  mysterious.  Lowering  clouds  began  to  steal  over  the 
fair  serenity  of  her  brow,  and  tremors  to  run  through  her 
tender  frame. 

32.  All  this  could  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  company. 
Their  gayety  was  chilled  by  the  unaccountable  gloom  of  the 
bridegroom ;  their  spirits  were  infected ;  whispers  and  glances 
were    interchanged,    accompanied    by   shrugs   and    dubious 
shakes  of  the  head.     The  song  and  the  laugh  grew  less  and 
less  frequent;  there  were  dreary  pauses  in  the  conversation, 
which  were  at  length  succeeded  by  wild  tales  and  super 
natural  legends.     One  dismal  story  produced  another  still 
more  dismal,  and  the  baron  nearly  frightened  some  of  the 
ladies  into  hysterics  with  the  history  of  the  goblin  horseman 
that  carried  away  the  fair  Leonora;  a  dreadful  story,  which 
has  since  been  put  into  excellent   verse,   and    is   read   and 
believed  by  all  the  world. 

33.  The  bridegroom  listened  to  this  tale  with  profound  atten 
tion.    He  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  baron,  and,  as  the 
story  drew  to  a  close,  began  gradually  to  rise  from  his  seat, 
growing  taller  and  taller,  until,  in  the  baron's  entranced  eye, 
he  seemed  almost  to  tower  into  a  giant.     The  moment  the  tale 
was  finished,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  took  a  solemn  fare 
well  of  the  company.     They  were  all  amazement.    The  baron 
was  perfectly  thunderstruck. 

34.  "What!  going  to  leave  the  castle  at  midnight?  why, 
everything  was  prepared  for  his  reception;    a  chamber  was 
ready  for  him  if  he  wished  to  retire." 

35.  The  stranger  shook  his  head  mournfully  and  mysteri 
ously;    "I  must  lay  my  head  in  a  different  chamber  to 
night!" 

36.  There  was  something  in  this  reply,  and  the  tone  in 
which  it  was  uttered,  that  made  the  baron's  heart  misgive 
him ;    but  he  rallied  his  forces,  and  repeated  his  hospitable 
entreaties. 

37.  The  stranger  shook  his  head  silently,  but  positively, 


THE   SPECTRE   BRIDEGROOM  345 

at  every  offer;  and,  waving  his  farewell  to  the  company, 
stalked  slowly  out  of  the  hall.  The  maiden  aunts  were  ab 
solutely  petrified ;  the  bride  hung  her  head,  and  a  tear  stole 
to  her  eye. 

38.  The  baron  followed  the  stranger  to  the  great  court  of 
the  castle,  where  the  black  charger  stood  pawing  the  earth, 
and  snorting  with  impatience.  —  When  they  had  reached  the 
portal,  whose  deep  archway  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  cresset, 
the  stranger  paused,  and  addressed  the  baron  in  a  hollow 
tone  of  voice,  which  the  vaulted  roof  rendered  still  more 
sepulchral. 

39.  "Now  that  we  are  alone,"  said  he,  "I  will  impart  to 
you  the  reason  of  my  going.     I  have  a  solemn,  and  indispen 
sable  engagement"  — 

"  Why,"  said  the  baron,  "cannot  you  send  some  one  in  your 
place?" 

"  It  admits  of  no  substitute  —  I  must  attend  it  in  person  — 
I  must  away  to  Wiirtzburg  cathedral"  — 

"Ay,"  said  the  baron,  plucking  up  spirit,  "but  not  until 
to-morrow  —  to-morrow  you  shall  take  your  bride  there." 

"No!  no!"  replied  the  stranger,  with  tenfold  solemnity, 
"my  engagement  is  with  no  bride  —  the  worms !  the  worms 
expect  me  !  I  am  a  dead  man  —  I  have  been  slain  "by  rob 
bers  —  my  body  lies  at  Wiirtzburg  —  at  midnight  I  am  to  be 
buried  —  the  grave  is  waiting  for  me  —  I  must  keep  my 
appointment!" 

40.  He  sprang  on  his  black  charger,  dashed  over  the  draw 
bridge,  and  the  clattering  of  his  horse's  hoofs  was  lost  in  the 
whistling  of  the  night-blast. 

41.  The  baron  returned  to  the  hall  in  the  utmost  con 
sternation,  and  related  what  had  passed.     Two  ladies  fainted 
outright,  others  sickened  at  the  idea  of  having  banqueted  with 
a  spectre.     It  was  the  opinion  of  some,  that  this  might  be  the 
wild  huntsman,   famous  in   German  legend.     Some  talked 
of  mountain  sprites,  of  wood-demons,  and  of  other  supernatu 
ral  beings,  with  which   the  good  people  of   Germany  have 
been  so  grievously  harassed  since  time  immemorial.     One  of 
the  poor  relations  ventured  to  suggest  that  it  might  be  some 


346  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

sportive  evasion  of  the  young  cavalier,  and  that  the  very 
gloominess  of  the  caprice  seemed  to  accord  with  so  melan 
choly  a  personage.  This,  however,  drew  on  him  the  indig 
nation  of  the  whole  company,  and  especially  of  the  baron, 
who  looked  upon  him  as  little  better  than  an  infidel ;  so  that 
he  was  fain  to  abjure  his  heresy  as  speedily  as  possible,  and 
come  into  the  faith  of  the  true  believers. 

42.  But  whatever  may  have  been  the  doubts  entertained, 
they  were  completely  put  to  an  end  by  the  arrival,  next  day, 
of  regular  missives,  confirming  the  intelligence  of  the  young 
count's  murder,  and  his  interment  in  Wiirtzburg  cathedral. 

43.  The  dismay  at  the  castle  may  well  be  imagined.     The 
baron  shut  himself  up  in  his  chamber.     The  guests,  who  had 
come  to  rejoice  with  him,  could  not  think  of  abandoning  him 
in  his  distress.    They  wandered  about  the  courts,  or  col 
lected  in  groups  in  the  hall,  shaking  their  heads  and  shrug 
ging  their  shoulders,  at  the  troubles  of  so  good  a  man ;   and 
sat  longer  than  ever  at  table,  and  ate  and  drank  more  stoutly 
than  ever,  by  way  of  keeping  up  their  spirits.     But  the  situa 
tion  of  the  widowed  bride  was  the  most  pitiable.     To  have 
lost  a  husband  before  she  had  even  embraced  him  —  and  such 
a  husband !  if  the  very  spectre  could  be  so  gracious  and  noble, 
what  must  have  been  the  living  man.     She  filled  the  house 
with  lamentations. 

44.  On  the  night  of  the  second  day  of  her  widowhood, 
she  had  retired  to  her  chamber,  accompanied  by  one  of  her 
aunts,  who  insisted  on  sleeping  with  her.     The  aunt,  who  was 
one  of  the  best  tellers  of  ghost-stories  in  all  Germany,  had  just 
been  recounting  one  of  her  longest,  and  had  fallen  asleep  in 
the  very  midst  of  it.     The  chamber  was  remote,  and  over 
looked  a  small  garden.     The  niece  lay  pensively  gazing  at  the 
beams  of  the  rising  moon,  as  they  trembled  on  the  leaves  of 
an  aspen-tree  before  the  lattice.     The  castle-clock  had  just 
tolled  midnight,  when  a  soft  strain  of  music  stole  up  from  the 
garden.     She  rose  hastily  from  her  bed,  and  stepped  lightly 
to  the  window.     A  tall  figure  stood  among  the  shadows  of  the 
trees.    As  it  raised  its  head,  a  beam  of  moonlight  fell  upon 
the  countenance.     Heaven  and  earth !  she  beheld  the  Spectre 


THE   SPECTEE   BRIDEGROOM  347 

Bridegroom !  A  loud  shriek  at  that  moment  burst  upon  her 
ear,  and  her  aunt,  who  had  been  awakened  by  the  music,  and 
had  followed  her  silently  to  the  window,  fell  into  her  arms. 
When  she  looked  again,  the  spectre  had  disappeared. 

45.  Of  the  two  females,  the  aunt  now  required  the  most 
soothing,  for  she  was  perfectly  beside  herself  with  terror.     As 
to  the  young  lady,  there  was  something,  even  in  the  spectre 
of  her  lover,  that  seemed  endearing.     There  was  still  the 
semblance  of  manly  beauty;    and  though  the  shadow  of  a 
man  is  but  little  calculated  to  satisfy  the  affections  of  a  love 
sick  girl,  yet,  where  the  substance  is  not  to  be  had,  even  that 
is  consoling.     The  aunt  declared  she  would  never  sleep  in  that 
chamber  again;   the  niece,  for  once,  was  refractory,  and  de 
clared  as  strongly  that  she  would  sleep  in  no  other  in  the 
castle  :  the  consequence  was,  that  she  had  to  sleep  in  it  alone ; 
but  she  drew  a  promise  from  her  aunt  not  to  relate  the  story 
of  the  spectre,  lest  she  should  be  denied  the  only  melancholy 
pleasure  left  her  on  earth  —  that  of  inhabiting  the  chamber 
over  which  the  guardian  shade  of  her  lover  kept  its  nightly 
vigils. 

46.  How  long  the  good  old  lady  would  have  observed  this 
promise  is  uncertain,  for  she  dearly  loved  to  talk  of  the  mar 
vellous,  and  there  is  a  triumph  in  being  the  first  to  tell  a 
frightful  story;   it  is,  however,  still  quoted  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  as  a  memorable  instance  of  female  secrecy,  that  she 
kept  it  to  herself  for  a  whole  week;   when  she  was  suddenly 
absolved  from  all  further  restraint,  by  intelligence  brought 
to  the  breakfast-table  one  morning  that  the  young  lady  was 
not  to  be  found.     Her  room  was  empty  —  the  bed  had  not 
been  slept  in  —  the  window  was  open,  and  the  bird  had  flown  ! 

47.  The  astonishment  and    concern  with  which   the   in 
telligence  was  received  can  only  be  imagined  by  those  who 
have  witnessed  the  agitation  which  the  mishaps  of  a  great 
man  cause  among  his  friends.     Even  the  poor  relations  paused 
for  a  moment  from  the  indefatigable  labors  of  the  trencher; 
when  the  aunt,  who  had  at  first  been  struck  speechless,  wrung 
her  hands,  and  shrieked  out,  "The  goblin!  the  goblin!  she's 
carried  away  by  the  goblin ! " 


348  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

48.  In    a   few   words    she    related    the    fearful    scene   of 
the  garden,  and  concluded  that  the.  spectre  must  have  car 
ried  off  his  bride.     Two  of  the  domestics  corroborated  the 
opinion,  for  they  had  heard  the  clattering  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
down    the    mountain  about  midnight,    and   had  no    doubt 
that  it  was  the  spectre   on  his  black   charger,  bearing  her 
away  to  the  tomb.     All  present  were  struck  with  the  dire 
ful  probability;  for  events  of  the  kind  are  extremely  com 
mon  in  Germany,  as  many  well-authenticated  histories  bear 
witness. 

49.  What  a  lamentable  situation  was  that  of  the  poor 
baron !    What  a  heart-rending  dilemma  for  a  fond  father, 
and  a  member  of  the  great  family  of  Katzenellenbogen !     His 
only  daughter  had  either  been  rapt  away  to  the  grave,  or 
he  was  to  have  some  wood-demon  for  a  son-in-law,  and,  per 
chance,  a  troop  of  goblin  grandchildren.     As  usual,  he  was 
completely  bewildered,  and  all  the  castle  in  an  uproar.     The 
men  were  ordered  to  take  horse,  and  scour  every  road  and 
path  and  glen  of  the  Odenwald.     The  baron  himself  had  just 
drawn  on  his  jack-boots,  girded  on  his  sword  and  was  about 
to  mount  his  steed  to  sally  forth  on  the  doubtful  quest,  when 
he  was  brought  to  a  pause  by  a  new  apparition.     A  lady  was 
seen  approaching  the  castle,  mounted  on  a  palfrey,  attended 
by  a  cavalier  on  horseback.     She  galloped  up  to  the  gate, 
sprang  from  her  horse,  and  falling  at  the  baron's  feet,  em 
braced  his  knees.     It  was  his  lost  daughter,  and  her  com 
panion  —  the    Spectre    Bridegroom !    The    baron    was    as 
tounded.     He  looked  at  his  daughter,  then  at  the  spectre,  and 
almost  doubted  the  evidence  of  his  senses.     The  latter,  too, 
was  wonderfully  improved  in  his  appearance  since  his  visit 
to  the  world  of  spirits.     His  dress  was  splendid,  and  set  off 
a  noble  figure  of  manly  symmetry.     He  was  no  longer  pale 
and  melancholy.     His  fine  countenance  was  flushed  with  the 
glow  of  youth,  and  joy  rioted  in  his  large  dark  eye. 

50.  The  mystery  was  soon  cleared  up.     The  cavalier  (for, 
in  truth,  as  you  must  have  known  all  the  while,  he  was  no 
goblin)  announced  himself  as  Sir  Herman  Von  Starkenfaust. 
He  related  his  adventure  with  the  young  count.     He  told 


THE    SPECTRE   BRIDEGROOM  349 

how  he  had  hastened  to  the  castle  to  deliver  the  unwelcome 
tidings,  but  that  the  eloquence  of  the  baron  had  inter 
rupted  him  in  every  attempt  to  tell  his  tale.  How  the  sight 
of  the  bride  had  completely  captivated  him,  and  that  to  pass 
a  few  hours  near  her,  he  had  tacitly  suffered  the  mistake  to 
continue.  How  he  had  been  sorely  perplexed  in  what  way  to 
make  a  decent  retreat,  until  the  baron's  goblin  stories  had 
suggested  his  eccentric  exit.  How,  fearing  the  feudal  hostility 
of  the  family,  he  had  repeated  his  visits  by  stealth  —  had 
haunted  the  garden  beneath  the  young  lady's  window  —  had 
wooed  —  had  won  —  had  borne  away  in  triumph  —  and,  in 
a  word,  had  wedded  the  fair. 

51.  Under  any  other  circumstances  the  baron  would  have 
been  inflexible,  for  he  was  tenacious  of  paternal  authority, 
and  devoutly  obstinate  in  all  family  feuds ;  but  he  loved  his 
daughter ;  he  had  lamented  her  as  lost ;  he  rejoiced  to  find  her 
still  alive;    and,  though  her  husband  was  of  a  hostile  house, 
yet,  thank  Heaven,  he  was  not  a  goblin.     There  was  some 
thing,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  did  not  exactly  accord 
with  his  notions  of  strict  veracity,  in  the  joke  the  knight  had 
passed  upon  him  of  his  being  a  dead  man;   but  several  old 
friends  present,  who  had  served  in  the  wars,  assured  him  that 
every  stratagem  was  excusable  in  love,  and  that  the  cavalier 
was  entitled  to  especial  privilege,  having  lately  served  as  a 
trooper. 

52.  Matters,  therefore,  were  happily  arranged.     The  baron 
pardoned  the  young  couple  on  the  spot.     The  revels  at  the 
castle  were  resumed.     The  poor  relations  overwhelmed  this 
new  member  of  the  family  with  loving-kindness;   he  was  so 
gallant,  so  generous  —  and  so  rich.     The  aunts,  it  is  true, 
were  somewhat  scandalized  that  their  system  of  strict  seclu 
sion  and  passive  obedience  should  be  so  badly  exemplified,  but 
attributed  it  all  to  their  negligence  in  not  having  the  windows 
grated.     One  of  them  was  particularly  mortified  at  having  her 
marvellous  story  marred,  and  that  the  only  spectre  she  had 
ever  seen  should  turn  out  a  counterfeit ;  but  the  niece  seemed 
perfectly  happy  at  having  found  him  substantial  flesh  and 
blood  —  and  so  the  story  ends. 


L'ENVOY  l 

Go,  little  booke,  God  send  thee  good  passage, 
And  specially  let  this  be  thy  prayere, 
Unto  them  all  that  thee  will  read  or  hear, 
Where  thou  art  wrong,  after  their  help  to  call, 
Thee  to  correct  in  any  part  or  all. 

—  CHAUCER'S  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCIE. 

1.  In  concluding  a  second  volume  of  the  Sketch-Book,  the 
Author  cannot  but  express  his  deep  sense  of  the  indulgence 
with  which  his  first  has  been  received,  and  of  the  liberal  dis 
position  that  has  been  evinced  to  treat  him  with  kindness  as 
a  stranger.     Even  the  critics,  whatever  may  be  said  of  them 
by  others,  he  has  found  to  be  a  singularly  gentle  and  good- 
natured  race ;  it  is  true  that  each  has  in  turn  objected  to  some 
one  or  two  articles,  and  that  these  individual  exceptions, 
taken  in  the  aggregate,  would  amount  almost  to  a  total  con 
demnation  of  his  work;   but  then  he  has  been  consoled  by 
observing,  that  what  one  has  particularly  censured  another 
has  as  particularly  praised ;   and  thus,  the  encomiums  being 
set  off  against  the  objections,  he  finds  his  work,  upon  the 
whole,  commended  far  beyond  its  deserts. 

2.  He  is  aware  that  he  runs  a  risk  of  forfeiting  much  of  this 
kind  favor  by  not  allowing  the  counsel  that  has  been  lib 
erally  bestowed  upon  him ;  for  where  abundance  of  valuable 
advice  is  given  gratis,  it  may  seem  a  man's  own  fault  if  he 
should  go  astray.     He  can  only  say,  in  his  vindication,  that 
he  faithfully  determined,  for  a  time,  to  govern  himself  in  his 
second  volume  by  the  opinions  passed  upon  his  first;    but 
he  was  soon  brought  to  a  stand  by  the  contrariety  of  excel 
lent  counsel.     One  kindly  advised  him  to  avoid  the  ludicrous ; 
another  to  shun  the   pathetic;   a  third  assured  him  that  he 
was  tolerable  at  description,  but  cautioned  him  to  leave 

1  Closing  the  second  volume  of  the  London  edition. 
350 


351 

narrative  alone ;  while  a  fourth  declared  that  he  had  a  very 
pretty  knack  at  turning  a  story,  and  was  really  entertaining 
when  in  a  pensive  mood,  but  was  grievously  mistaken  if  he 
imagined  himself  to  possess  a  spirit  of  humor. 

3.  Thus  perplexed  by  the  advice  of  his  friends,  who  each 
in  turn  closed  some  particular  path,  but  left  him  all  the  world 
beside  to  range  in,  he  found  that  to  follow  all  their  counsels 
would,  in  fact,  be  to  stand  still.     He  remained  for  a  time 
sadly  embarrassed;    when,  all  at  once,  the  thought  struck 
him  to  ramble  on  as  he  had  begun ;  that  his  work  being  mis 
cellaneous,  and  written  for  different  humors,  it  could  not  be 
expected  that  any  one  would  be  pleased  with  the  whole ;  but 
that  if  it  should  contain  something  to  suit  each  reader,  his 
end  would  be  completely  answered.     Few  guests  sit  down  to 
a  varied  table  with  an  equal  appetite  for  every  dish.     One 
has  an  elegant  horror  of  a  roasted  pig ;  another  holds  a  curry 
or  a  devil  in  utter  abomination ;  a  third  cannot  tolerate  the 
ancient  flavor  of  venison  and  wild-fowl;    and  a  fourth,  of 
truly  masculine  stomach,  looks  with  sovereign  contempt  on 
those  knickknacks,  here  and  there  dished  up  for  the  ladies. 
Thus  each  article  is  condemned  in  its  turn ;  and  yet  amidst  this 
variety  of  appetites,  seldom  does  a  dish  go  away  from  the  table 
without  being  tasted  and  relished  by  some  one  or  other  of  the 
guests. 

4.  With  these  considerations  he  ventures  to  serve  up  this 
second  volume  in  the  same  heterogeneous  way  with  his  first ; 
simply  requesting  the  reader  if  he  should  find  here  and  there 
something  to  please  him,  to  rest  assured  that  it  was  written 
expressly  for  intelligent  readers  like  himself;   but  entreating 
him,  should  he  find  anything  to  dislike,  to  tolerate  it,  as  one 
of  those  articles  which  the  author  has  been  obliged  to  write 
for  readers  of  a  less  refined  taste. 

5.  To  be  serious.  —  The  author  is  conscious  of  the  numer 
ous  faults  and  imperfections  of  his  work ;  and  well  aware  how 
little  he  is  disciplined  and  accomplished  in  the  arts  of  author 
ship.     His  deficiencies  are  also  increased  by  a  diffidence  arising 
from  his  peculiar  situation.     He  finds  himself  writing  in  a 
strange  land,  and  appearing  before  a  public  which  he  has  been 


352  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

accustomed,  from  childhood,  to  regard  with  the  highest  feel 
ings  of  awe  and  reverence.  He  is  full  of  solicitude  to  deserve 
their  approbation,  yet  finds  that  very  solicitude  continually 
embarrassing  his  powers,  and  depriving  him  of  that  ease  and 
confidence  which  are  necessary  to  successful  exertion.  Still 
the  kindness  with  which  he  is  treated  encourages  him  to  go 
on,  hoping  that  in  time  he  may  require  a  steadier  footing ;  and 
thus  he  proceeds,  half  venturing,  half  shrinking,  surprised 
at  his  own  good  fortune,  and  wondering  at  his  own  temerity. 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY 
THE  AUTHOR 

L   Why  should  it  be  easy  to  remember  the  date  of  Irving 's 
birth? 

2.  In  what  part  of  the  city  of  New  York  was  the  home  in 

which  Irving  grew  up  ?     When  was  it  pulled  down  ? 

3.  What  was  the  position  and  occupation  of  the  father  of 

Irving  ? 

4.  How  did  the  war  of  the  Revolution  affect  the  fortunes 

of  his  parents  ? 

5.  Irving's  brothers  and  sisters;   make  a  list,  or  diagram, 

of  the  children  in  this  family  for  reference,  and  add 
to  it  as  you  find  out  residence,  occupation,  etc.,  of 
each  one. 

6.  Irving's  education :  — 

a.   Schools  attended;  time  spent  in  each;   character  as 

a  student. 
6.   At  what  age  did  Irving  begin  to  study  law? 

c.  Compare  Irving's  education  at  that  time  with  the 

present  requirement  for  entrance  to  law  schools. 

d.  Why  did  Irving  enter  on  the  study  of  law  ? 

7.  Irving's  reading :  — 

a.  Make  a  list  of  books  read  by  Irving  before  he  was 

eighteen. 
6.   Compare  your  list  with  the  list  of  books  read  by  Scott 

in  the  same  years :  — 

(1)  What  class  of  books  did  both  lads  like? 

(2)  Of  what  books  was  Scott  more  fond  than  Irving  ? 

(3)  Of  what  books  was  Irving  more  fond  than  Scott  ? 

(4)  What  is  the  difference  between  the  reading  of 
these  boys  and  the  reading  of  a  boy  of  the  same 
age,  now? 

353 


354  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

8.  How  early  did  Irving  show  an  unusual  fondness  for 

travel?     Did  he  travel  more  or  less  than  other  boys 
at  that  time  ? 

9.  An  outline  of  Irving's  life  up  to  his  first  voyage  to  Eu 

rope,   showing  his  places  of  residence,   occupations, 
journeys,  and  other  notable  experiences. 

NOTE. — This  outline  should  be  placed  in  the  note-book  in  con 
venient  form  for  reference. 

10.  Trace  on  the  map  all  excursions  and  journeys  made  by 

Irving  before  his  first  trip  to  Europe. 

11.  First  trip  to  Europe:  — 

a.  How  old  was  Irving?     How  came  he  to  go? 

b.  Geographical   outline   of   Irving's  journey,   showing 

places  visited,  time  spent,  etc.     Trace  route  on 
map  of  Europe. 

c.  What  noted  persons  did  Irving  meet  on  this  trip? 

d.  Where  and  in  what  ways  did  the  fact  of  war  between 

England  and  France  affect  Irving? 

e.  How  many  times  did  Irving  find  himself  in  circum 

stances  arising  in  some  way  from  acts  of  Napoleon  ? 

/.  What  personal  acquaintances  or  friends  did  Irving 
make  while  in  Europe? 

g.  What  do  you  find  in  histories  about  the  United  States 
government  and  the  pirates  of  the  Mediterranean? 
Why  had  this  government  any  concern  about  pi 
rates  so  far  away?  Who  was  president  at  that 
time? 

h.  Describe  briefly  Irving's  experiences  with  the  picca- 
roon  pirates  of  the  Mediterranean. 

See  "Life  and  Letters,"  I,  65,  and  245-247. 

12.  Irving  at  home,  1806-1815 :  - 

a.   An  outline  of  Irving's  life,  showing  places  of  residence 

occupations,  writings,  journeys,  etc. 
6.   What  events  in  this  period  of  Irving's  life  were  most 

important,  —  that    is,    affected   most   the   future 

course   of  his  life? 
c.    How  did  the  War  of  1812  affect  the  prosperity  of  the 

family  ? 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  355 

d.  What  was  living's  military  rank  and  title  during  the 

War  of  1812? 

e.  How  long  was  he  connected  with  the  army?     What 

actual  service  did  he  see? 

/.  What  was  the  plan  of  the  partnership  of  the  Irving 
brothers?  Why  was  it  arranged? 

13.  Early  literary  work  of  Washington  Irving:  — 

a.  When  did  Irving  begin  to  write  ?  Under  what  nom- 
de-plume  were  his  first  writings  published? 

6.  Wno  were  the  "Lads  of  Kilkenny"?  Under  what 
names  did  they  write? 

c.  What  book  was  begun  soon  after  this  time  by  Peter  and 

Washington  Irving?     Give  an  account  of  Irving's 
scheme  for  advertising  and  introducing  this  book. 

d.  Show  in  outline,  with  dates,  all  important  writings 

of  Irving  published  before  1815. 

14.  Second  trip  to  Europe,  during  which  "The  Sketch-Book" 

was  written :  — 

a.  What  was  the  occasion  of  Irving's  second  trip  to 
Europe  ?  How  long  did  he  remain  ? 

6.  How  old  was  Irving  at  the  time  of  the  voyage  which 
is  the  subject  of  the  second  paper  in  "The  Sketch- 
Book"? 

15.  "The  Author's  Account  of  Himsetf":  - 

a.   How  does  Irving  explain,  in  this  paper,  his  "rambling 

propensity"? 
6.   What  reasons  does  he  give  for  thinking  Europe  more 

interesting  to  a  traveller  than  our  own  country? 
c.    What  is  the  meaning  of  the  name  of  his  book  ? 

THE  VOYAGE 

1.    The  real  voyage:  — 

a.  When  was  steam  first  used  on  the  Hudson  river? 

b.  In  what  year  did  a  steamship  cross  the  ocean  for  the 

first  time? 

c.  How  long  did  it  take  to  cross  the  ocean  at  the  time  of 

Irving's  voyage? 


356  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

d.  What  expedition  had  Irving  been   invited   to   ac 

company  to  the  Mediterranean?  What  historical 
event  changed  his  plan?  Why? 

e.  What  considerations  influenced  Irving  when  deciding 

to  go  to  Europe  ? 

NOTE.. —  A  description  of  travel  on  the  Hudson  in  the  boyhood  days 
of  Irving  will  be  found  in  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  17;  also, 
quoted,  p.  259.  The  time  of  the  return  voyage  of  Irving's  first  trip  is 
given  in  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  118.  For  some  account  of 
ocean  travel  early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  see  McMaster's  "His 
tory  of  the  People  of  the  United  States,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  50-51. 

2.   Irving's  essay,  "The  Voyage":  — 

a.  Write  in  your  own  words  Irving's  idea  of  the  differ 
ence  in  effect  on  the  mind  of  a  sea  voyage  and  of  a 
land  journey.  Do  you  think  that  this  difference 
would  be  the  same,  now,  when  sea  voyages  are  so 
much  shorter? 

6.  Choose  some  short  land  journey  that  you  have 
taken,  and  write  of  the  method  of  travel,  of  your 
experiences,  and  of  the  effect  on  your  own  mind. 
Do  not  try  to  imitate  Irving's  account  of  his  voy 
age;  let  your  composition  be  a  truthful  record  of 
your  own  experiences. 

c.  Write  in  your  own  words  the  effect  of  the  sea  voyage 

upon  Irving.  In  order  to  do  this  well,  you 
should  begin  with  an  account  of  Irving's  char 
acter  and  temperament,  and  speak  of  his  mental 
traits  and  habits.  If  you  wish,  write  in  the  first 
person  as  a  fellow- voyager,  who  has  been  watching 
Irving,  and  has,  in  some  way,  learned  his  thoughts. 

d.  Study  the  paragraphs  of  "The  Voyage,"  from  the 

fourth  to  the  end  of  the  essay,  and  make  an  outline 
of  the  subjects  of  meditation  or  interest  mentioned 
by  Irving ;  show  especially  why  each  suggested  the 
next  and  how  the  author  passed  from  one  topic  to 
another  without  making  an  abrupt  change. 

NOTE. — This  is  the  most  important  topic  for  study  under  "The 
Voyage,"  and  should  be  developed  in  detail.  Each  pupil  may  learn 
from  it  much  about  the  arrangement  of  matter  in  his  own  narrative 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  357 

e.  Why  did  Irving  represent  himself  in  this  essay  as 
having  arrived  a  stranger,  without  friends,  in  a 
foreign  land  ?  What  were  the  facts  of  the  case  ? 

RURAL   LIFE   IN   ENGLAND 

1.  "Rural  Life  in  England"  was  published  in  1819;  exam 

ine  Irving's  life  and  inquire  :  — 
a.   What  means  of  knowing  rural  life  in  England  he 

then  had. 
6.   What  parts  of  England  he  knew  best. 

2.  Irving  begins  this  essay  by  an  observation  about  the 

proper  means  of  forming  an  opinion  of  the  English 
character;  how  does  he  lead  the  reader  from  this 
beginning  to  the  subject  of  par.  3,  "The  English,  in 
fact,  are  strongly  gifted  with  rural  feeling"? 

3.  In  how  many  ways  does  he  support  this  statement  ? 

4.  Paragraphs  4  and  5  contrast  the  Englishman  in  the  city 

with  the  Englishman  in  the  country ;  what  statement 
in  the  preceding  paragraphs  does  this  contrast  prove 
and  illustrate? 

5.  Show  whether  the  order  in  which  Irving  has  written  these 

paragraphs  can  be  changed,  —  that  is,  show  by  good 
reason  for  or  against,  whether  par.  4  may  be  placed 
after  par.  5. 

6.  How  is  rural  life  made  more  attractive  in  England  than 

in  the  United  States? 

7.  What  is  the  effect  of  this  different  rural  life  upon :  — 

a.  The  individual. 

b.  The  community. 

c.  Social  relations. 

d.  National  life  and  characteristics. 

NOTE.  — Letter  xci,  in  "A  Citizen  of  the  World,"  by  Oliver  Gold 
smith,  is  entitled,  "The  Influence  of  Climate  and  Soil  upon  the  Tem 
pers  and  Dispositions  of  the  English." 

8.  After  studying  Irving's  plan  for  this  essay,  let  each  stu 

dent  imagine  himself  a  visitor  from  a  distant  state 
or  country,  and  try  to  write  an  essay  on  rural  life  in  his 


358  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

own  neighborhood,  which  will  make  clear  general  char 
acteristics  in  a  way  that  seems  attractive  and  fair. 

NOTE. — The  class  exercise  should  consist  in  the  comparison  and 
criticism  of  the  points  chosen  for  the  essays,  and  in  discussion  of  the 
fairness  and  fulness  of  the  presentation.  The  important  point  is  to 
secure  original  observation  and  consideration  of  local  environment 
instead  of  mere  imitation  of  Irving 's  essay.  Stevenson  once  wrote  an 
essay  in  which  he  attempted  the  task  suggested  above,  "  The  For 
eigner  at  Home,"  in  "Memories  and  Portraits." 

9.   At  the  conclusion  of  the  study  of  "  Rural  Life  in  England/ 
let  each  student  make  an  outline  of  the  essay  showing : — 

a.  The  introduction,  with  the  steps  of  transition  to  the 

real  subject  of  the  essay. 

b.  The  main  points  of  the  essay,  and  under  each  one 

the   reasons,  proofs,    etc.,    by  which   the   author 
seeks  to  establish  his  point. 

c.  The  conclusions  of  the  author. 

10.  The  quotation  with  which  Irving  closes  is  from  a  poem 
but  little  read  at  the  present  time ;  let  each  mem 
ber  of  the  class  find,  if  he  can,  some  quotation  that 
he  likes  better  expressing  the  same  sentiment. 

NOTE.  —  When  these  selections  are  presented,  the  teacher  should 
discuss  with  the  class  the  suitability  of  each  in  style,  and  adaptation 
to  the  prose  of  the  essay,  as  well  as  in  thought ;  and  in  the  end,  the 
best  may  be  selected  by  the  vote  of  the  class. 

THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH 

1.  What  was  Irving's  chief  interest  in  his  travels?     Bring 

illustrations  both  from  his  life  and  from  his  writings 
in  proof  of  your  points. 

2.  What  was  the  personal  relation,  or  point  of  view,  of  the 

writer  of  this  essay  to  the  country  church  and  its  con 
gregation  ? 

3.  Paragraphs  1-4  are  for  the  purpose  of  describing  (a)  the 

church;  (6)  the  congregation;  (c)  the  vicar;  (d)  the 
stranger  in  the  pew.  There  is  some  common  ele 
ment,  or  point  of  view,  running  through  1-3,  —  what 
is  it? 

4.  Paragraph  4  faces  both  ways :  — 


TOPICS   FOR'  STUDY  359 

a.  What  is  the  relation  of  par.  4  to  the  first  three  para 
graphs  ? 

6.  What  shows  that  this  paragraph  is  the  close  of  the 
introduction  ? 

c.  What  shows  it  to  be  the  beginning  of  the  main  part 
of  the  essay  ? 

5.  In  the  description  of  the  church,  what  is  the  description 

of  detail  intended  to  show? 

6.  Does  the  description  of  the  congregation  or  of  the  noble 

family  illustrate  any  part  of  the  essay,  "  Rural  Life  in 
England"? 

7.  The  two  families :  — 

a.  Make  parallel  outlines  of  Irving 's  description  of  the 
two  families,  show  the  characteristics  of  each,  and 
point  out  the  contrast. 

8.  Show  what  illustrations  of  the  characteristics  described 

above,  Irving  gives  in  the  succeeding  paragraphs. 

9.  What  conclusion  did  the  writer  of  the  essay  reach? 

How  is  this  conclusion  impressed  upon  readers  ? 
10.   Review  topic  :  outline  the  essay,  showing  each  part,  with 
all  pertinent  detail. 

THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON 

In  the  essays,  " Rural  Life  in  England,"  "The  Country 

Church,"  and  "The  Widow  and  Her  Son,"  Irving  speaks  of 

English  landscapes  in  three  different  aspects:  (a)  ...  the 

taste  of  the  English  in  what  is  called  landscape  gardening,  .  .  . 

(b)  the  peculiar  charm  of  English  landscape,  .  .  .  (c)   .  .  .  the 

passive  quiet  of  an  English  landscape  on  Sunday.     Each  aspect 

of  English  landscape  scenery  is  chosen  with  reference  to  what 

the  author  wished  to  say  in  the  body  of  his  essay :  — 

1.    Show,  in   each   essay,  what   point   of   view   he  wishes 

the  reader  to  take,  and  how  he  uses  the  aspect  of  the 

landscape  as  a  setting  for  the  more  serious  matter  to 

follow. 

NOTE.  —  Each  pupil  should  find  and  express  in  words,  spoken  or 
written,  the  aspect  of  the  landscape  defined  by  Irving  in  the  early 
part  of  the  essay;  the  transitions  from  this  point  of  view  should  be 


360  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

definitely  pointed  out,  and  finally,  as  far  as  possible,  Irving 's  choice 
of  point  of  view  must  be  shown  to  correspond  with  the  feeling  and 
spirit  of  the  main  part  of  the  essay.  The  attempt  to  exchange  the 
point  of  view  chosen  by  Irving  for  "The  Widow  and  Her  Son  "  with 
the  one  which  serves  as  starting  point  for  "Rural  Life  in  England," 
may  illustrate  the  distinction  between  them. 

2.  What  is  the  general  statement  with  which  this  essay 

begins  ? 

3.  By  what  steps  of  transition  is  the  reader's  attention  led 

from  the  general  statement  to  the  poor  widow? 

4.  a.   Where  does  the  story  of  the  traveller,  or  author, 

begin?     Where  does  it  end? 

6.   Outline  the  narrator's  story,  showing  every  step  of  his 
interest  in,  and  knowledge  of,  the  widow's  story. 

5.  a.   Where  in  the  essay  does  the  poor  widow's  story  begin  ? 

Where  does  it  end  ? 

6.   Outline  the  widow's  story  in  the  order  in  which  the 
narrator  learned  it. 

6.  a.   Where  in  the  narrator's  story  does  the  incident  of  the 

meeting  with  the  widow's  friend  come  ? 

b.  Where  in  the  widow's  story  does  the  incident  of  the 

friend  come? 

c.  Outline  the  story  told  by  the  widow's  friend.     Where 

does  this  story  begin  ?     Where  does  it  end  ? 

7.  Make  an  outline  of  the  story  that  Irving  had  in  mind 

but  did  not  tell,  the  story  of  the  life  of  George  Somers 
and  his  parents. 

8.  Are  there  places  in  this  story  for  which  Irving  did  not  give 

particulars  ? 

NOTE.  —  Each  one  may  invent  detail,  when  necessary.  Comparison 
in  class  will  reveal  which  invention  is  most  in  accord  with  Irving 's 
narrative. 

9.  Show  where  each  one  of  the  stories  told  in  the  essay  is 

made  to  fit  in  with  the  others. 

1.   CHRISTMAS 

1.  Show  how  from  the  general  statement  Irving  at  last 
brings  the  reader  to  the  point  of  view  of  special  interest 
in  the  revival  of  Christmas  customs  now  obsolete. 


TOPICS   FOE    STUDY  361 

2.  Show  how  and  where,  throughout  the  essay,  Irving  in 

fuses  a  personal  point  of  view. 

3.  Define  this  personal  point  of  view  and  show  the  elements 

that  enter  into  it. 

4.  What,  in  this  essay,  seems  distinctly  a  preparation  for 

the  series  of  papers  to  come  ? 

5.  Make  an  outline  of  this  essay,  showing  clearly :  — 
a.   The  general  statement  and  introduction. 

6.   The  steps  by  which  the  general  statement  is  narrowed 
to  a  statement  of  the  subject  of  the  essays. 

6.  Show  the  transitions  or  changes  by  which  Irving  passes 

from  topic  to  topic. 

2.   THE  STAGE-COACH 

For  an  account  of  roads  and  travel  in  England  at  the  time 
of  Irving's  journey  see  "London  in  the  Eighteenth  Century/' 
by  Sir  Walter  Besant,  Chap.  iv.  This  most  picturesque  ac 
count  of  a  coach,  coachman,  and  passengers  is  dated  July  27, 
1827. 

1.  Why  did  Irving  choose  Yorkshire  for  the  scene  of  this 

essay? 

2.  What  is  the  r61e  of  "I"  in  "The  Stage-Coach"? 

3.  How  many  characters  enter  into  this  essay? 

4.  Which  of  these  characters  interested  Irving  most? 

5.  Which  interests  the  reader  most?    Why? 

6.  How  many  things  in  this  journey  depend  upon  the  fact 

that  it  was  on  the  day  before  Christmas  ? 

7.  Why  does  Irving  describe  the  coachman  so  particularly? 

NOTE.  —  Dickens  description  of  Tony  Weller,  an  English  coach 
man,  will  be  found  in  "Pickwick  Papers,"  Chap,  xxiii. 

8.  When  did  travelling  by  coach  cease  to  be  the  common 

means  of  conveyance  in  England? 

9.  What  did  Irving  see  from  the  coach  windows? 

10.  How  did  Irving's  journey  end? 

11.  How  many  times  in  this  essay  are  you  reminded  that 

Irving  was  a  stranger  in  the  land,  and  far  from  his  own 
home,  at  a  time  when  he  would  best  like  to  be  there? 


362  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

12.  How  many  points  do  you  find  in  this  essay  in  which  cus 

toms  in  England  differ  from  customs  in  America  under 
similar  circumstances? 

13.  Give  names  to  the  little  boys  and  to  all  members  of  their 

family  referred  to  in  the  essay,  then  make  an  outline 
of  their  story.  Notice  that  in  their  story  Washington 
Irving  was  only  one  of  their  fellow-travellers,  perhaps 
a  little  more  interesting  than  the  others  because  he 
came  from  America. 

14.  Make  an  outline  of  the  essay,  "The  Stage-Coach,"  fitting 

into  it  such  parts  of  the  boy's  story  as  belong  in  it. 

15.  A  written  paper,  in  which  the  boy's  story  is  told. 

NOTE.  —  This  story  may  be  divided  into  chapters  according  to  the 
outline,  and  each  pupil  may  write  one. 

3.    CHRISTMAS  EVE 

1.  The  ride  and  the  arrival:  — 

a.  What  incidents  of  the  ride  are  given? 

NOTE.  —  This  question  is  intended  to  lead  the  student  to  select 
from  the  pages  everything  of  the  nature  of  action,  —  "alight  and 
walk  through  the  park,"  etc.  The  narrative  element  is  very  slight; 
it  serves  as  transition,  as  a  means  of  exciting  personal  interest,  and 
it  also  aids  the  reader  in  picturing  the  scenes  described. 

b.  What  suggested  the  topics  of  conversation  on  this 

ride? 

c.  Why  did  a  walk  through  the  grounds  please  Irving 

better  than  the  drive  would  have  done  ? 

d.  How  many  indications  of  the  character  of  the  Squire 

do  you  find  in  the  conversation,  or  narrative,  up  to 
the  ringing  of  the  doorbell  ? 

2.  The  introduction :  — 

a.  How  many  persons  were  there  in  the  company  that 

Irving  found  in  the  hall?     Which  of  these  were 
members  of  the  Squire's  family? 

b.  What    indications    or   hints   of    characteristics    and 

peculiarities  are  given  in  the  introduction  scene? 

3.  What  is  your  first  impression  of  the  Squire? 

4.  What  would  the  visitor's  impression  of  the  Squire  have 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  363 

been  had  he  learned  nothing  about  him  before  he  was 
presented  ? 

5.  Write  briefly  the  son's  real  opinion  of  his  father  as  you 

infer  it  from  the  narrative. 

6.  How  did  Irving  manage  to  introduce  a  description  of  the 

hall  in  the  midst  of  the  narrative  ?  Was  it  important 
to  describe  the  hall  at  this  point? 

7.  a.   Which  of  the  persons  present  in  the  hall  attracted  the 

visitor  most?     Why? 
b.   Which  interests  the  reader  most? 

8.  For  what  special  purpose  is  the  character  of  Master  Simon 

introduced  ? 

9.  Why  did  Irving  call  attention  to  the  family  portraits? 

10.  What  marked  the  close  of  Christmas  eve  for  Irving? 

11.  In  how  many  respects  would  this  celebration  of  Christmas 

eve  seem  unreal,  or  like  a  dream  of  an  olden  time,  to  a 
visitor  from  America? 

4.   CHRISTMAS  DAY 

1.  Make  an  outline  showing  all  the  incidents  or  acts  of  this 

day,  in  the  order  in  which  they  took  place. 

2.  Draw  an  imaginary  map  or  plan  of  the  manor,  the  build 

ings  mentioned,  and  the  village,  and  mark  a  route  for 
the  walk. 

3.  Why  did  Irving  begin  his  account  of  the  day  with  a 

description  of  the  scene  from  the  window? 

4.  Examine  all  the  Christmas  papers  and  make  an  estimate 

of  the  number  of  persons  in  the  family  of  the  Squire  at 
this  time ;  of  the  number  of  servants  belonging  to  the 
hall. 

5.  Make  a  list  of  all  the  things  that  specially  interested 

Irving  during  the  day.  Which  one  interested  him 
most?  How  can  you  tell? 

6.  Which  of  the  observances  of  the  day  were  new  and 

strange  to  Irving,  the  American  ? 

7.  Which  one  of  all  the  old  Christmas  customs  of  the  day 

would  you  care  most  to  see  ?     Why  ? 


364  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

8.  What  do  you  learn  of  the  humors  and  whims  of  the  Squire 

on  this  day  ? 

9.  Do  you  learn  anything  new  about  other  persons? 

10.  What  did  Irving  consider  the  most  important  moment 

of  the  day  ? 

11.  What  incident  forms  the  close  of  this  essay? 

5.   THE  CHRISTMAS  DINNER 

1.  Write  from  memory  and  imagination  a  description  of  this 

hall,  drawing  at  the  top  of  the  page  some  plan  that 
will  represent  your  idea  of  its  form,  arrangement, 
etc.,  and  showing  fireplace,  windows,  sideboard, 
table,  etc. 

2.  Irving  speaks  of  the  makeshifts  by  which  "that  worthy 

old  humorist,"  the  Squire,  endeavored  "to  follow  up 
the  quaint  customs  of  antiquity."  If  you  suppose  that 
the  Squire  and  all  his  family  entered  into  the  revival 
of  these  old  customs  as  a  sort  of  play,  select  from  the 
narrative  every  one  you  find  and  show  how  it  was 
carried  out. 

NOTE.  —  If  there  are  in  the  school  library  books  suitable  for  this 
use,  the  members  of  the  class  may  find  the  origin  and  early  observance 
in  England  of  customs  mentioned  in  this  essay.  Illustrations  show 
ing  old  holiday  customs,  games,  etc.,  should  be  sought  and  exhibited 
in  class.  An  "art  loan  exhibit"  to  illustrate  Irving's  Christmas 
papers  might  prove  profitable  and  delightful.  For  books  of  reference 
for  this  use,  see  Bibliography,  page  411. 

3.  Write  from  your  own  knowledge  an  account  of  a  Christ 

mas  dinner  in  this  country  and  of  the  entertainments 
that  follow  it. 

4.  Compare  the  entertainments  of  Christmas  day  in  Eng 

land  with  the  customs  and  festivities  of  the  day  in  the 
United  States,  pointing  out  every  difference. 

5.  In  all  these  papers,  what  unusual  dishes  and  drinks  are 

mentioned  ?    Are  any  of  these  in  use  now  ? 


TOPICS   FOE   STUDY  365 


GENERAL  TOPICS  ON  THE  CHRISTMAS  ESSAYS 

1.  Make  an  outline  of  the  story,  or  action,  running  through 

all  the  essays. 

2.  Make  an  outline  of  the  observances  of  an  old-fashioned 

Christmas  which  would  serve  as  a  guide  for  any  one 
who  wished  to  repeat  them. 

3.  Write  a  comparison  of  the  old  time  and  of  the  present, 

discussing :  — 

a.   The  relation  of  each  to  the  family  life. 
6.   The  enjoyment,  in  each,  of  the  young  people,  of  the 
older  people,  of  servants  and  dependents. 

LITTLE  BRITAIN 

1.  Read  the  last  paragraph  of  "London  Antiques,"  page 

119,  and  be  prepared  to  rewrite  it  briefly  in  class,  stating 
its  essential  meaning  and  its  relation  to  the  essay, 
"Little  Britain." 

2.  Geographical:  — 

a.  Where  is  Brittany?     Why  would  the  Dukes  of  Brit 

tany  at  any  time  have  wished  to  have  residences 
in  London? 

b.  What  little  Duke  of  Brittany  was  once  held  a  prisoner 

by  his  uncle? 

c.  Why  were  walls  built  around  the  old  city  of  London  ? 

When  did  they  cease  to  be  of  use  ?     Why  ? 

NOTE.  —  Teachers  should  give  references  to  such  English  histories, 
pictures,  or  maps  as  may  be  found  in  the  library.  For  the  little  Duke 
of  Brittany,  see  the  story  of  Hubert  de  Burgh  and  Arthur  in  Shake 
speare's  "  King  John,"  Act  IV,  scene  1. 

3.  In  this  essay  the  author  is  an  imaginary  person  much 

like  Irving  in  nature  and  disposition,  but  with  a  life 
history  which  it, pleased  Irving  to  represent  as  very 
different  from  his  own.  Imagine  the  story  of  this 
man's  life  in  outline,  showing :  — 

a.  His  age. 

b.  His  appearance. 


366  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

c.  His  occupations,  places  of  residence,  etc. 

d.  Explain  how  he  came  to  be  interested  in  antiquarian 

lore. 

e.  For  what  reason  did  he  reside  in  this  part  of  London  ? 

NOTE.  —  Squire  Bracebridge  was  in  many  respects  very  different 
from  the  author  of  this  essay;  compare  the  two  men  and  show  the 
special  interest  each  felt,  how  it  differed  from  the  other  man's, 
and  the  reasons  for  the  difference. 

4.  How  many  sources  of  information  about  Little  Britain 

did  Irving  imagine  the  old  gentleman  to  have  had? 

NOTE.  —  Examine  the  essay  carefully  for  indirect  evidence  on  this 
point. 

5.  How  many  of  the  city  wonders  mentioned  by  Irving  in 

this  essay  have  you  read  of,  either  in  histories,  or  in 
reading  books,  or  in  stories? 

NOTE.  —  For  each,  some  incident,  fact,  or  association,  especially 
of  persons,  should  be  given,  and  references  to  books  should  be  re 
quired,  as  far  as  practicable. 

6.  In  par.  17,  Irving  says, "  Little  Britain  has  long  flourished  " 

.  .  .  and,  goes  on  to  state  the  point  of  view  or  purpose 
he  has  in 'mind  in  writing  this  essay.  Make  a  plan  for 
this  essay  as  if  you  had  it  to  write ;  in  order  to  do  this, 
study  the  essay  carefully  that  you  may  really  find 
hidden  in  the  pleasant  paragraphs  Irving  'a  own  plan. 
The  plan  must  show  the  general  divisions  of  the  essay, 
as,  i,  Location;  (ii, — );  iii,  Traces  of  former  splen 
dor,  etc.  Subdivisions,  which  will  consist  of  particu- 
•  lars,  illustrations,  proof,  etc.,  must  also  be  given,  and 
the  pupil  must  be  able,  in  class,  to  tell  how  to  pass  from 
one  great  division  to  the  next.  Irving  will  always 
show  him  some  graceful  means  of  transition. 

This  plan  may  include  only  that  part  of  the  essay 
designed  to  describe  and  illustrate  the  notable  features 
of  "Little  Britain"  and  the  characteristics  of  the 
people  living  there ;  that  is,  all  paragraphs  up  to  the 
nineteenth. 

7.  What  excuse  had  Irving  for  enumerating  so  many  old 

saws  and  superstitions? 


TOPICS  FOR   STUDY  367 

8.  Compare  the  two  rival  oracles  so  as  to  show  the  difference 

between  them. 

a.  Which  was  himself  the  more  superstitious? 

6.  Which  one  shared  more  nearly  the  beliefs  and  super 
stitions  of  the  ordinary  inhabitants  of  the  city? 
Why  do  you  think  so? 

c.  For  how  many  of  these  superstitions  or  beliefs  can 

you  give  an  instance  from  your  own  knowledge,  of 
some  one  who  really  believes  in  the  notion  and  has 
acted  on  his  belief? 

d.  A  great  many  of  our  proverbs  and  saws  have  been 

derived  from  our  forefathers  in  England,  or  in 
some  European  country;  write  on  a  slip  of  paper 
all  the  proverbs  you  yourself  know. 

NOTE.  —  If  these  are  placed  on  the  board  or  read  in  class,  it  will 
be  interesting  to  notice  how  many  times  the  same  one  is  given.  The 
teacher  can  often  tell  in  a  moment  whether  the  proverb  is  an  old 
English  saying,  or  is  borrowed  from  some  other  country. 

9.  The  story  of  the  aspiring  family  of  the  Lambs  and  of  how 

Little  Britain  regarded  them :  — 
a.   Make  an  outline  of  the  story  of  the  Lamb  family, 

adding  from   your  own  imagination  details  not 

given  by  the  author. 
6.   Write  the  story  of  the  family  as  told  by  one  of  its 

members.     The  story  may  be  in  chapters. 

c.  Write  an  account  of  society  in  Little  Britain,  by  a 

member  of  the  Lamb  family. 

d.  Write  a  description,  with  comment,  of  the  Lamb 

family,  by  some  member  of  the  rival  family  in 
Little  Britain. 

e.  Compare  the  Lamb  family  with  the  aspiring  family 

in  "The  Country  Church."  Make  your  own  points 
for  the  comparison,  after  examining  both  descrip 
tions,  but  be  sure  to  show  the  differences  in  the 
families,  in  the  manner  of  life,  and  also  in  Irving's 
point  of  view. 

10.   Why  did  Irving  introduce  the  story  of  the  Lamb  family 
at  the  close  of  this  essay? 


368  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

11.  Irving' s  note-book. 

NOTE.  —  This  essay  is  full  of  antiquarian  lore  gathered  by  Ir  ving 
from  old  books  and  pictures,  from  rambles  and  conversations  with  per 
sons  fond  of  research.  The  material  with  which  he  began  may  be 
extracted  from  the  essay  and  entered  in  a  note-book  as  if  for  the 
writing  of  another  essay.  The  following  topics  may  be  assigned, 
one  to  each  member  of  the  class,  or  each  may  choose  the  one  he  likes 
best,  and  the  note-book  on  this  topic  may  be  presented  as  a  written 
lesson.  If  the  school  library  is  good  and  there  is  time,  let  the  note 
book  have  two  divisions:  (a)  Irving's  note-book;  (6)  items  which 
may  be  added  to  Irving's  note-book.  These  (1)  must  be  pertinent 
to  the  subject ;  (2)  must  increase  the  pleasure  of  the  reader  in  the 
essay.  The  following  topics  are  suggested  :  — 

a.  The  location  and  history  of  Little  Britain. 

6.  The  evidences  of  past  splendor. 

c.  The  superstitions  and  customs  of  the  people. 

d.  The  objects  of  interest  to  sight-seers  and  travellers. 

e.  Old  games,  —  how  each  is  played. 
/.  Great  events :  — 

(1)  St.  Bartholomew's  fair. 

(2)  The  Lord  Mayor's  day. 

g.    Temple  Bar  and  the  freedom  of  the  city. 
h.    Old  English  manners  and  customs. 

12.  If  a  great  library,  or  a  good  collection  of  illustrated  books 

and  prints,  is  accessible,  " Little  Britain"  may  be  illus 
trated  with  great  pleasure  and  profit.  There  are  many 
pictures  of  old  streets,  city  gates,  taverns,  markets, 
etc.,  within  this  small  district  of  the  ancient  city. 


A  SUNDAY  IN  LONDON 

1.  Make  an  outline  showing :  — 

a.  The  general  statement  used  as  introduction. 

b.  The  clew  for  the  selection  of  particulars. 

c.  The  grouping  of  particulars. 

d.  Explain  the  reason  for  the  order  of  the  groups. 

e.  Point  out  the  transitions,  or  changes,  by  which  the 

author  passes  from  one  group  to  the  next. 

2.  Test  the  outline  by  the  following  questions :  — 

a.   In  "The  Widow  and  her  Son,"  Irving  describes  the 
effect  of  the  landscape  on  the  mind  on  that  day ; 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  369 

in  London,  there  is  no  landscape,  —  what  does 
Irving  choose,  instead,  as  the  best  means  of  show 
ing  the  sacred  influence  of  the  Sabbath? 
6.  In  this  essay,  Irving  describes  the  habitual  routine  of 
life  in  London,  on  Sunday,  for  a  church-going 
family;  make  an  outline  showing  this  customary 
routine,  as  he  describes  it. 

c.  Make  an  outline  showing  the  customary  routine  of 

life,  on  Sunday,  for  a  church-going  family  living  in 
a  city  in  the  United  States. 

d.  Make  an  outline  showing  the  routine  of  life  on  Sunday 

for  a  family  living  in  the  country  in  the  United 
States. 

e.  Write  a  short  comparison  of  the  English  habit  of  life 

on  the  Sabbath,  according  to  Washington  Irving, 
and  of  the  American,  speaking  especially  of  points 
of  similarity  and  of  differences. 

LONDON  ANTIQUES 

1.  What  did  Irving  substitute,  in  this  essay,  for  his  usual 

form  of  introduction? 

2.  The  author's  apology  for  an  odd  taste  for  relics  of  a  "  fore 

gone  world  ":  — 

a.  Describe  the  character  and  personality  which  Irving 
assumes  in  this  essay ;  is  the  personality  that  of  his 
own  true  self?  How  can  you  best  prove  or  dis 
prove  this  point? 

3.  The  first  excursion  of  the  antiquity  hunter:  — 

a.  In  pars.  1,  2,  3,  is  the  reader  most  interested  in  the 

person  making  the  excursion,  or  in  the  discoveries 
made  by  him?  Why? 

b.  Which  did  the  author  intend  should  interest  most  ? 

4.  The  antiquity  hunter's  subsequent  tour:  — 

a.  What  first  attracted  Irving's  attention  and  excited 

his  interest? 

b.  Did  he  know  what  place  he  had  really  come  upon 

when  he  entered,  do  you  think  ? 


370  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

c.  When   did   the    impression    of    mystery    begin    for 

Irving?     What  began  it? 

d.  Find  everything  which  added  to  this  feeling,  up  to 

the  open  door,  par.  5. 
5.    In  this  essay,  Irving  pleases  himself  with  fancies,  and 

each  place  he  saw  was  an  excuse  for  a  new  reverie. 
a.   What  suggested  his  first  fanciful  supposition   and 

what  was  it? 

6.   What,  a  little  later,  started  him  on  another  reverie, 
and  what  form  did  this  supposition  take  ? 

c.  What  suggestion  did  the  strange  appearance  of  the 

room  described  in  pars.  8  and  9  bring  to  his  mind  ? 

d.  What  effect  had  the  discovery   of  John   Hallum  on 

Irving 's  fancies  ?     Why  ? 

e.  What  was  Irving's  purpose  in  describing,  briefly,  the 

past  life  and  occupations  of  John  Hallum  ? 
/.  Why  did  not  Irving  first  tell  readers  what  place  he  had 

found,  then  describe  it,  and,  finally,  give  his  own 

reveries  and  fancies? 
g.  If  he  had  chosen  this  order  for  his  essay,  how  should  he 

have  changed  his  reveries  ?     Why  ? 
h.  Why  was  it  necessary  to  use  "P.S."  before  par.  14? 

NOTE.  —  Read  here  Thackeray's  description  of  the  pensioners  of 
Charterhouse  in  "The  Newcomes." 

Pictures,  descriptions  in  histories,  or  in  literature,  names  of  fa 
mous  persons  connected  with  Charterhouse  school,  may  be  given 
here.  The  map  should  be  used,  and  guide  books  will  be  very  useful. 
Best  of  all,  for  the  use  of  schoolboys,  is  "Charterhouse,"  in  Bell's 
Series  of  "Handbooks  to  Great  Public  Schools,"  with  its  many 
illustrations;  see  Bibliography. 

THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP 

1.  What  is  the  general  observation  with  which  Irving  began 

this  essay  ?     What  inference  did  he  draw  from  it  ? 

2.  What  connection  is  there  between  the  subject  of  the 

second  paragraph  and  the  observation  of  the  first? 

3.  In  what,  in  previous  paragraphs,  did  Irving  find  a  start 

ing-point  for  the  remarks  he  wished  to  make  about 
himself? 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  371 

4.  Where  is  the  real  starting-point  of  this  essay? 

5.  What  was  Irving's  point  of  view  in  reading  the  old  play? 

NOTE.  —  Notice,  here,  Thackeray's  comparison  of  the  heroes 
of  history  with  Robinson  Crusoe,  Mariner.  See  the  beginning  of 
Thackeray's  Essay  on  Steele,  "  English  Humorists." 

Adventures  on  the  way:  — 

Explanation.  —  Irving  started  out  with  three  purposes 
in  mind :  — 

a.  .To  find  all  that  really  remained  of  the  old  buildings, 
all  genuine  relics,  etc. 

6.  To  find  whether  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood 
believed  in  the  reality  of  Shakespeare's  scenes  and 
characters. 

c.  To  imagine  the  old  scenes  and  characters  as  still  exist 
ing,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  transport  himself  into  their 
midst  and  convince  himself  of  the  reality  of  all 
that  his  imagination  had  dwelt  upon. 

NOTE.  —  In  considering  the  following  topics,  Irving 's  point  of  view 
and  purposes  should  be  kept  in  mind.  Irving 's  adventures  on  the 
way  were  exciting  only  because  his  intimate  knowledge  of  English 
history  and  of  literature  enabled  him  to  call  to  mind  persons,  events, 
or  scenes  associated  with  each  spot  that  he  visited.  Students, 
however  young,  should  have  a  small  fund  of  similar  knowledge,  and, 
if  one  is  ignorant,  the  books  in  the  library  will  serve  each  boy  or  girl 
as  well  as  they  served  Irving  himself. 

6.  Topics:  — 

a.  Locate  the  places  mentioned  in  par.  7. 

b.  Explain  the  literary  or  historical  references,  as  far  as 

you  are  able. 

7.  What   information   did   Irving   gain   from   the   tallow 

chandler's  widow? 

8.  Whom  did  Irving  seek  next? 

9.  Of  what  use  in  the  essay  are  pars.  15  and  16? 

10.  Why  was  Irving  pleased  to  discover  the  tomb  of  Robert 

Preston? 

11.  Where  did  he  go  next?     In  search  of  what? 

12.  What  interested  him  first?     What  discoveries  did  he 

make  here? 

13.  In  the  conclusion  of  this  essay,  what  references  do  you 

find  to  the  opening  paragraphs  ?  Why  were  they  made  ? 


372  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

14.   Summary:  — 

a.  How  many  names  of  old  taverns,  or  inns,  does  Irving 

mention  in  "Little  Britain "? 

b.  Find  as  many  names  and  pictures  as  you  can  of  old 

inns  existing  in  London  between  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  the  time  of  George  the  First. 

NOTE.  —  Examine  English  histories,  "Shakespeare's  London"  (see 
Bibliography,  p.  411),  Callows's  "Old  English  Taverns,  "etc.,  fornames 
and  illustrations. 

c.  The  Mason's  Arms :  This  is  described  as  if  it  were  a 

survival  of  the  time  of  The  Boar's  Head,  and  Irving 
pleases  himself  with  imagining  that  it  is  indeed 
the  old  tavern.  Point  out  all  the  resemblances 
noticed,  or  imagined,  by  him. 

d.  What    real    relics    or    antiquities    did    Irving    find 

on  this  pilgrimage?  What  information  did  he 
gain? 

e.  What  suggestions  of  Shakespeare's  scenes  or  char 

acters  did  real  persons  or  places  supply  for   his 

imagination  to  work  upon? 
/.   What  did  the  people  whom  he  found  know,  care,  or 

believe  about  the  old  tavern  and  the  characters  of 

Shakespeare's  play? 
g.   How  many  real  persons  of  modern  London  did  Irving 

introduce  in  this  essay  in  order  to  give  it  narrative 

form?     Can  you  describe  from  his  account  the 

appearance,    character,    and    manner    of    life    of 

each? 

NOTE.  —  Note-book  outlines  should  be  made,  showing  the  informa 
tion  on  each  point  given  in  the  essay.  One  outline  may  then  be 
chosen  as  a  guide  for  a  written  description ;  it  will  soon  be  evident 
to  what  extent  the  writer  must  draw  upon  his  own  imagination  for 
details. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

Preliminary.  —  The  plan  of  the  abbey  and  enclosure  makes 
it  possible  to  trace  Irving's  route  as  he  passed  from  place  to 
place,  and  therefore  to  realize  his  point  of  view  in  describing 


TOPICS   FOK  STUDY  373 

special  features.  A  pictorial  key  which  may  be  used  to 
illustrate  further  this  essay  is  given  in  the  Bibliography,  and 
explanation  of  the  plan  and  the  special  points  of  view  will 
be  found  in  the  Notes. 

1.  Topics.  —  Let  each  member  of  the  class  prepare  a  note 

on  Westminster  Abbey  to  take  the  place  of  Irving's 
note  in  the  Appendix,  using  histories  and  other  books 
of  reference  accessible  in  the  library.  That  note  shall 
be  called  best  which  is :  — 

a.  Packed  fullest  of  information  about  the  history  of  the 

abbey. 

b.  Which  is  most  interesting  and  attractive  in  the  read 

ing. 

c.  Which  corresponds  best  with  the  spirit  of  Irving's 

essay,  so  that  it  seems  a  preparation  for  the  read 
ing  of  it. 

NOTE. —  If  there  is  time,  notes  should  be  numbered  and  read  with 
out  names  by  the  teacher,  the  members  of  the  class  voting  to  select 
the  one  best  suited  for  printing  in  an  edition  of  the  essay. 

2.  Locate  Westminster  Abbey  in  the  city  of  London,  — 
a.   With  reference  to  the  Thames. 

6.   With  reference  to  St.  Paul's  and  Little  Britain. 

c.  With  reference  to  the  Tower. 

d.  With  reference  to  the  site  of  Temple  Bar  and  the  old 

city  walls. 
NOTE.  —  See  illustration,  p.  105,  and  note  on  Temple  Bar. 

3.  What  is  the  point  of  view  of  the  author  in  this  essay? 

4.  In  how  many  ways  is  this  point  of  view  emphasized  or 

illustrated  before  the  arched  doorway  is  entered? 

5.  Why  is  the  attention  of  the  reader  called,  just  here,  to 

the  sun  and  the  bit  of  blue  sky  visible  above  the  "sun- 
gilt  pinnacles"? 

6.  What  was  the  impression,  in  the  mind  of  Irving,  of  the 

first  view  of  the  interior  of  the  abbey? 

7.  By  what  means  does  Irving  attempt  to  give  an  idea  of 

the  size,  or  vastness,  of  the  interior? 

8.  "And  yet,"  paragraph  6,  is  used  as  the  sign  of  transition 

or  change :  — 


374  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

a.  Why  is  it  necessary? 

b.  What  means  of  transition  to  the  more  ordinary  mood 

of  the  sight-seer  did  Irving  use  ? 

9.   Make  an  outline,  showing  the  points  chosen  for  observa 
tion  and  description  from  here  on.    Show  for  each :  — 

a.  The  reason  for  the  choice. 

b.  The  special  interest  in  Irving's  mind. 

c.  Special  reflections  or  feelings  roused. 

d.  The  influence  of  Irving's  point  of  view,  in  this  essay, 

on  the  description. 

10.  The  abbey  and  the  remains  it  contained  had  two  distinct 

effects  upon  Irving's  mind,  one,  typified  and  expressed 
by  the  notes  of  the  organ;  the  other,  illustrated  by 
what  he  calls  a  "  theatrical  artifice."  Trace  both 
throughout  the  essay,  if  you  can.  Were  these  feelings 
consistent  ?  Did  one  contribute  to  the  other  ?  Which 
one  was  inspired  most  directly  by  what  Irving  saw? 

11.  In  this  essay,  Irving  ends  with  a  general  reflection :  — 

a.  What  is  this  reflection? 

b.  On  what,  in  the  preceding  essay,  is  it  based? 


JOHN  BULL 

1.  What  is  a  caricature?     Let  each  member  of  the  class — 

a.  Write  his  own  definition  and  explanation  of  the  term. 

b.  Bring  from    current   periodicals  well-known    carica 

tures,  and  explain  how  they  illustrate  his  definition. 

2.  Irving  begins  this  essay,  as  usual,  with  a  general  state 

ment  :  — 

a.  What  is  this  statement? 

b.  By  what  steps  of  transition  does  he  come  to  the  gen 

eral  purpose  of  his  essay  ? 

c.  Where  does  the  real  body  of  the  essay  begin  ? 

3.  Irving  says  that  a  nation  personifies  itself  in  caricatures 

adopted  as  national.  Let  each  one  make  a  collection 
from  current  papers  and  magazines  of  the  caricatures 
of  modern  nations,  and  for  each,  write  comments  that 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  375 

will  define  and  illustrate  Irving's  meaning  in  the  above 
statement. 

4.  Make   an  outline   of  living's   analysis  of  John   Bull's 

character,  showing:  — 
a.  Weaknesses,  or  vices. 
6.  Qualities  in  which  the  English  people  take  pride. 

c.  National  characteristics  illustrated  or  touched  upon. 

d.  Results  of  the  conservatism  of  John  Bull. 

e.  Qualities,  or  habitual  conduct,  calculated  to  irritate 

persons  not  English-bred. 

NOTE.  —  For  references  to  Goldsmith's  "Letters  and  Papers  on  the 
Characteristics  of  the  English,"  see  Notes,  p.  402. 

5.  What  illustrations  of  points  given  in  this  essay  have  you 

found  in  other  essays  of  Irving's? 

6.  What  are  the  points  of  Irving's  summary  and  conclu 

sion? 

7.  Write  a  comparison  of  the  character  of  the  English  and 

of  Americans,  using  the  points  found  above  as  the 
basis  of  comparison.  Write  with  care  a  conclusion 
summing  up  the  comparison  made  in  detail  in  the 
essay.  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  find  an  introduction 
for  this  essay  which  will  admit  of  a  natural  and  grace 
ful  transition  to  the  real  subject.  When  the  papers 
have  been  written,  let  a  comparison  of  introductions 
be  made  in  class  to  see  which  best  serves  the  purpose. 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

This  essay  opens  with  a  scene  in  which  place,  time,  and 
person,  are  given,  while  a  reflection  serves  as  the  start 
ing-point  of  the  essay. 

1.   Compare  the  general  observation  or  statement  in  the 
beginning  of  the  essay,  "Stratford-on-Avon,"  with  the 
one  at  the  beginning  of  "The  Boar's  Head  Tavern. 
Eastcheap,"  in  the  following  respects:  — 
a.   Which  arises  most  naturally  from  the  situation  of  the 
traveller  ? 


376  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

b.  Which,  in  itself,  is  most  interesting? 

c.  Which  serves  best  to  create  expectation  and  interest 

in  the  narrative  to  follow?     Why? 

NOTE.  —  In  telling  the  story  of  an  expedition  for  sight-seeing,  Irving 
usually  follows  an  order  something  like  this :  first,  the  finding  of  the 
place ;  secondly,  a  general  description  of  it,  together  with  the  rea 
sons  for  interest  in  it ;  thirdly,  the  person  by  whom  it  is  to  be  shown ; 
fourthly,  special  points  of  interest,  or  information  communicated 
by  the  guide;  fifthly,  the  visitor,  his  feelings,  opinions,  etc.,  and 
sixthly,  a  transition  which  suggests  the  next  topic. 

In  "  The  Boar's  Head,"  for  instance,  Irving  (a)  decides  on  a  pil 
grimage,  and  sets  out ;  (6)  describes  the  search  for  the  street  and 
the  arrival ;  (c)  describes  the  search  for  the  site  of  the  old  tavern,  etc. 

This  general  outline  is  varied  according  to  the  nature  of  the  sub 
ject.  In  "  Stratford-on- Avon, "  the  presence  of  the  traveller  at  the 
Red  Horse  Inn  tells  the  reader  where  he  is,  and  what  he  has  come 
for ;  the  hint  of  a  guide-book  suggests  also  the  order  of  his  investiga 
tions.  The  evidence  of  method  is,  however,  all  the  more  striking  for 
omissions  and  modifications. 

2.  Make  a  careful  outline,  keeping  in  mind  Irving  'a  general 

plan  in  these  descriptions,  of :  — 
a.  The  visit  to  Shakespeare's  house. 
6.   The  visit  to  Shakespeare's  grave. 
c.   The  visit  to  Charlecot. 

3.  Why    is    par.   7  introduced    before   the    visit   to   the 

church? 

4.  Why  is  so  particular  a  description  of  the  sexton's  cottage 

given  ? 

5.  How  did  Irving  explain  his  special  desire  to  visit  Charle 

cot?     What  was  his  reason  for  wishing  to  walk? 

6.  Irving  gives  his  own  reference  for  the  forest  meditation 

of  Jaques.  Let  each  one  select  some  quotation  from 
Shakespeare's  play,  "As  You  Like  It,"  that  seems 
to  fulfil  Irving's  epithet. 

7.  Make  a  parallel,  showing  for  this  walk :  — 
a.   The  things  seen. 

6.   The  thoughts  and  fancies  suggested  by  each. 

8.  Which  of  these  visits  did  Irving  enjoy  most?     Why? 

9.  Which  did  he  intend  should  interest  the  reader  most? 

Why? 

10.   Are  the  reflections  of  Irving  after  his  return  to  the  inn 
the  conclusion  of  the  essay?    To  what  do  they  refer? 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  377 

11.  Compare  the  imaginary  reality  created  by  Irving  for 
himself  on  this  expedition  with  that  of  the  pilgrimage 
to  Eastcheap  ;  with  that  of  the  Christmas  papers. 
Show  differences  in :  — 

a.   Material  in  real  things  seen  and  visited. 

6.   Sources  of  knowledge  of  an  older  time. 

c.  Literary  material  —  characters,  etc.,  already  familiar. 

d.  Arrangement,  narrative  element  in  essay,  etc. 

e.  In  which  is  the  interest  of  the  reader  greatest  ?     Why  ? 


ABBOTSFORD 

1.  What  had  Irving  already  published  at  this  time  ?      Were 

his  writings  known  in  England?  See  "Life  and 
Letters/'  Vol.  I,  pp.  158,  175. 

2.  What  well-known  works  of  Scott's  had  been  published  at 

the  time  of  Irving 's  visit?  For  note  of  Irving 's  en 
joyment  of  an  English  copy  of  "The  Lady  of  the 
Lake/'  in  1810,  see  "Life  and  Letters/'  Vol.  I,  p.  187. 

3.  Outline,  in  the  manner  of  previous  essays :  — 

a.  The  arrival  and  introduction. 

b.  The  visit  to  Melrose  Abbey. 

c.  The  Ramble  on  the  first  day. 

NOTE.  —  Topics  of  conversation  may  be  added  at  the  close  of  the 
outline. 

d.  The  dinner,  including  the  evening. 

e.  The  second  day. 

(1)  At  Abbotsford. 

(2)  The  Second  Ramble. 
/.    The  third  day. 

(1)  Visit  to  Dryburgh  Abbey. 

(2)  Another  Ramble. 

g.   Conclusion  of  the  visit  and  departure  of  the  guest. 

NOTE.  —  The  essential  part  of  this  essay  lies  in  the  account  of 
Scott's  character  and  manner  of  life,  and  this  is  given  incidentally 
in  a  narration  of  excursions,  visits,  and  fireside  cheer.  This  will  be 
more  clear  if  Topics  for  Study  have  reference  to  the  essay  as  a  whole, 
rather  than  to  parts  of  it. 


378  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

4.  Description  of  places  or  of  things :  — 

a.  Select,  throughout  the  essay,  all  extended  descrip 

tions,  such  as  the  one  in  par.  4. 

b.  Is  there  one  of  these  which  is  not  in  some  way  con 

nected  with  Scott  himself? 

5.  Descriptions  of  persons:  — 

a.   Make  a  list  of  all  persons  whatever,  introduced  in  this 

narrative. 
6.   Is  there  one  among  them  who  is  not  associated  in 

some  way  with  Scott? 

c.  Which  one  of  these  persons  is  most  interesting  ?   Why  ? 

6.  Class  exercise.    Write,  as  the  name  is  assigned  you,  a 

description  of  one  of  the  characters  appearing  in  this 
essay.  Draw  on  your  own  imagination  for  details, 
which  must,  however,  be  consistent  with  Irving 's  de 
scription.  Illustrate  manner  or  character,  by  conver 
sation  or  by  incidents.  Write  entirely  from  memory. 

7.  Descriptions  borrowed  by  Scott  from  his  own  private  life 

for  use  in  literature :  — 

a.  Make  a  list  of  such  descriptions,  referred  to  in  this 

essay. 

b.  If  the  poems  referred  to  are  accessible,  find  where  these 

passages  are,  and  what  place  they  fill  in  the  story. 

8.  Scott  as  a  story  teller :  — 

a.  Which  is  the  best  story  of  those  told  by  Scott  dur 

ing  Irving's  visit? 

b.  Of  which  story  has  Irving  given  the  best  account? 

Why  do  you  think  it  best  ? 

9.  Authorship  of  "Waverley  Novels" :  — 

a.  In  what  year  was  the  first  of  the  "  Waverley  Novels  " 

published  ? 

b.  What  other  novels  of  this  series  had  been  published 

at  the  time  of  Irving's  visit? 

c.  How  many  descriptions   or  references   to    persons, 

places,  etc.,  in  Scott's  novels  and  poems  do  you 
find  in  Abbotsford? 

NOTE.  —  This  topic  should  be  used  especially  for  students  who 
have  already  studied  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  "  Ivanhoe,"  and 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  379 

other  of  Scott's  works,  and  references  for  quotations  should  be  to  text 
in  which  they  stand ;  for  scenes  and  persons,  to  novel  or  story 
with  same  description  of  character,  etc. 

d.  Why  did  Scott  wish  to  conceal  the  authorship  of  these 

novels  ? 

e.  What  circumstantial  evidence  that  Scott  was  the 

author  of  these  novels  did  Irving  come  upon  during 
his  visit? 

NOTE.  —  Persons  who  are  familiar  with  history  and  who  have  read 
many  books  find  pleasure  in  travel,  or  in  conversation,  which  is  denied 
to  others  less  intelligent.  In  particular,  in  much  of  the  intercourse 
between  Scott  and  Irving,  interest  depended  upon  the  fact  that  each 
understood  at  once  the  references  of  the  other  and  shared  his  enthu 
siasm. 

10.  a.   Make  a  list  of  the  topics  of  conversation  in  which  in 

terest  depended  upon  some  previous  knowledge  of 
the  subject  on  Irving's  part.  For  each,  define  in 
a  complete  sentence  the  topic  of  conversation. 

b.  In  the  topics  of  conversation  on  the  first  ramble, 

which  one  was  introduced  by  Irving?     Why? 

11.  Characteristics  of  Scott:  — 

This  topic  will  give,  in  a  sense,  a  summary  of  the  essay. 

The  work  should  be  done  as  follows :  — 
a.   A  full  list  of  characteristics  mentioned  by  Irving 

should  be  made,  with  references  to  page  of  essay, 

in  proof. 
6.   Illustrations  and  comment  should  be  noted  for  each 

characteristic. 

c.  Each  student  should  be  prepared  to  write,  without 

reference  to  the  text,  a  full  and  careful  statement 
of  any  trait,  or  quality,  of  Scott's  character  that 
has  been  mentioned,  and  to  illustrate  the  same. 

12.  Write  an  essay  without  reference  to  "Abbotsford,"  or 

to  notes,  outlines,  etc.,  on :  — 
a.   Scott,  as  Irving  knew  him. 
6.   Irving's  opinion  of  Scott. 

13.  Illustrations  and  anecdotes  of  Scott:  — 

These  may  be  gathered  from  the  library  and  may  include 
scenes,  characters,  etc.,  in  the  life  of  Scott,  or  in  any  of 
his  well-known  poems,  or  novels. 


380  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

1.  Irving  describes  first  the  mountain  region,  then  the  par 

ticular  spot,  then  the  character  of  the  person,  then  his 
habits,  and  his  relations  with  other  persons.  What 
impression  did  Irving  wish  to  make  in  his  description 
of  the  mountains? 

2.  Why  did  he  begin  with  a  description  of  the  mountains 

when  the  story  itself  begins  in  the  village  ? 

3.  In  the  description  of  the  village,  what  points  did  the 

author  wish  you  to  carry  in  mind  for  the  story? 

4.  Describe :  — 

a.  The  character  of  Rip. 

b.  His  habits. 

c.  His  relations  with  other  persons. 

5.  With  what  does  the  real  story  that  Irving  wished  to  tell 

begin  ? 

6.  Make  an  outline  of  the  story,  showing  every  act  or  step 

which  led  directly  to  another  act,  up  to  the  time  when 
Rip  fell  asleep. 

a.  What  was  the  first  extraordinary  thing  that  happened 

to  Rip? 

b.  What  mistake  did  Rip  make  ? 

c.  Did  anything  happen  which  seemed  to  Rip  himself 

supernatural  or  impossible? 

d.  Had  Rip  ever  heard  the  story  of  Hendrick  Hudson  and 

his  crew? 

e.  Where  did  Rip  go  to  sleep? 

7.  Rip's  awakening:  — 

a.  Where  did  Rip  find  himself  when  he  awakened  ? 

b.  How  long  did  he  suppose  that  he  had  slept  ? 

c.  Make  a  list  of  the  disturbing  things  that  came  to  Rip's 

attention  before  he  reached  the  village  inn.    Show 
how  each  one  increased  his  bewilderment. 

8.  Rip's  reappearance  in  the  village:  — 

a.  When   he  came  to  the  inn,  what  changes  did   Rip 
observe  before  he  addressed  any  one? 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  381 

6.   What  did  the  villagers  think  of  Rip? 

c.  Describe  Rip  as  you  suppose  he  looked  to  the  vil 

lagers,  noticing  especially  changes  that  had  taken 
place  in  his  appearance  since  he  left  home. 

d.  How  did  Rip  try  to  make  himself  known  ? 

e.  What  added  to  the  confusion  of  his  mind  ? 

/.   What  else,  incidentally,  increased  his  bewilderment? 

g.   At  what  moment  was  his  distress  greatest  ? 

h.  What  first  gave  his  mind  relief? 

i.    What  finally  restored  Rip's  confidence  in  his   own 

identity? 

/.   Did  this  satisfy  the  villagers?     Why  not? 
k.   How  many  reasons  did  Irving  give  to  show  that  the 

opinion  of  Peter  Vanderdonk  must  convince  the 

villagers  ? 
Z.    Show   in   outline   how  many  attempts   Rip   made, 

from  the  moment  of  waking,  to  recover  connection 

with  his  past  and  convince  himself  of  his  own 

identity.     Mark  each  one  that  did  not  aid  him 

as  " failure." 
m.  After  you  reach  the  end  of  Rip's  adventure,  how  many 

bits  of  information  does  Irving  give  in  the  text  for 

the  purpose  of  concluding  the  story  ? 
9.   a.   What  is  the  real  subject  of   "Rip  Van  Winkle"? 

That  is,  why  did  Irving  wish  to  tell  the  story? 

NOTE.  Two  suggestions  are  made  below ;  study  over  each  and  see 
whether  you  can  prove  from  the  beginning,  the  recognition  scene, 
and  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  which  Irving  had  in  mind. 

(1)  Did  Irving  wish  to  tell  the  story  of  an  old  Dutch 

legend  associated  with  the  Kaatskill  moun 
tains  as  if  it  really  were  true  ? 

(2)  Did  Irving  wish    to    use    an  old   legend   as   a 

means  of  showing  how  great  changes  took 
place  in  twenty  years  at  the  time  of  the  Amer 
ican  Revolution? 
6.  According   to   Irving,  did   the  old   Dutch   villagers 

really  believe  in  the  occasional  return  of  Henry 

Hudson  and  his  crew  ? 


382  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

c.  Has  this  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  of  Henry 
Hudson  and  his  crew  any  association  in  your  mind 
with  Irving's  own  boyhood? 

Original  Composition.  —  If  you  consider  the  magic  drink 
a  device  for  getting  Rip  out  of  the  way  for  many  years  while 
great  changes  transpired,  many  devices  for  accomplishing  the 
same  result  may  be  found  which  are  at  once  natural  and  prob 
able.     For  instance,  a  young  man  who  went  to  California 
for  gold  in  '49,  or  to  Alaska  at  a  later  date,  may  not  have 
accumulated  money  enough  to  come  back  until  years  have 
gone  by.     Let  each  member  of  the  class  select  some  place  in 
his  own  town  or  neighborhood  which  has  been  standing  ten 
or  twenty  years,  and  tell  a  natural  everyday  story  of  some 
one  who  returns  to  it  after  an  absence  of  at  least  five  years. 
The  parts  of  the  story  he  must  invent  will  be  as  follows :  — 
a.   Description  of  the  place,  person,  family,  friends,  etc. 
6.   The  cause  of  going  from  home,  and  the  explanation 
of  the  long-continued  absence.     The  simplest,  most 
natural  means  should  be  considered  the  best  in 
vention. 

c.  What  happens  while  the  person  (he  or  she)  is  away : 

(1)  In  the  home,  or  neighborhood,  from  which  he  went. 

(2)  The  adventures  of  the  person  himself.     These  need 
not  be  told  in  order,  but  unless  they  are  carefully 
thought  out,  the  return  will  not  be  well  written. 

d.  The  cause  of  the  return ;  the  decision  and  journey 

of  the  person. 

NOTE. — There  is  one  sort  of  story,  or  one  condition,  which  would 
make  it  possible  to  omit '  d," — what  is  it? 

e.  The  return :  — 

(1)  The  changes  as  they  appear  to  the  person  who  has 

been  absent. 

(2)  The  person  who  has  been  absent  as  he  appears  to 

the  persons  who  have  remained  in  the  old  neigh 
borhood. 
/.    The  conclusion,  which  should  tell  how  life  went  on 

after   the  return   for   the   persons   the   reader  is 

interested  in. 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  383 


NOTE.  —  These  stories,  when  written,  will  not  seem  in  the  least  like 
Irving 's  "Rip  Van  Winkle,"  although  the  plan  is  the  same ;  the  mate 
rial  and  the  conditions  are  different,  and  for  this  reason  the  stories 
should  be  simple,  natural  narratives  of  events  so  common  that  they 
seem  familiar  to  us  all.  Even  the  style  in  the  descriptive  passages 
should  differ  to  correspond  with  the  subject-matter  of  the  story. 
This  should  remove  from  the  mind  of  the  writer  any  tendency 
to  imitate  Irving,  which  must  of  necessity  be  futile.  Irving 's  plan, 
however,  is  free  for  all  who  are  able  to  adapt  it  to  the  use  of  material 
near  at  hand  and  familiar. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW 

1.  What    is    the   important    difference   between    Irving's 

description  of  the  locality  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  and 
his  d2Sfription  of  the  mountains  in  the  beginning  of 
"Rip  Van  Winkle"? 

2.  Make    note-book    memoranda   for    pars.    3-7,    of    all 

points  which  Irving  had  in  mind  before  he  wrote,  as 
necessary  to  include  in  the  general  description  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

3.  What  phrase  marks  the  beginning  of  a  more  particular 

description? 

4.  Show,  in  outline,  all  the  points  about  Ichabod  that  Irving 

wished  to  fix  in  the  minds  of  readers  before  he  began 
to  tell  the  story. 

5.  Draw,  if  you  are  able,  a  map  of  the  locality,  showing  the 

position  of  the  schoolhouse,  the  church,  the  ceme 
tery,  the  Van  Tassel  mansion ;  show  also  the  road  and 
the  bridge. 

5.  Draw,  if  you  are  able,  a  picture  of  the  schoolhouse  with  the 

door  standing  open,  showing  also  the  hill  and  the  birch 
tree. 

6.  a.   Draw,  if  you  can,  a  picture  of  Ichabod  as  you  see  him ; 

or, 

b.  Write  a  description  of  Ichabod  Crane  as  you  see  him : 

choose  a  time  for  your  description,  as,  in  school 
hours ;  or,  outside,  with  the  boys ;  or,  in  the  even 
ing,  at  his  boarding  place. 

c.  Show,  in  outline,  everything  learned  about  Ichabod 's 


384  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

past  life,  education,  etc.,  up  to  the  day  of  the 
invitation. 

7.  What  were  Ichabod 's  personal  peculiarities  and  charac 

teristics? 

8.  What  were  the  duties  of  a  teacher  in  Ichabod's  time? 

How  was  Ichabod  supported? 

NOTE.  —  Another  description  of  boarding  around,  a  custom  widely 
prevalent  in  early  days,  will  be  found  in  Eggleston's  "Hoosier  School 
master.  " 

9.  Show,    in   outline,    as   for   Ichabod   Crane,    everything 

learned  about  the  history,  life,  etc.,  of 

(1)  Brom  Bones;    (2)  Katrina;    (3)  Baltus  Van  Tassel. 

10.  Write  a  description  of  each  person  named  in  U9, "  as 

for  Ichabod  Crane;  or,  if  you  prefer,  draw  a  picture 
of  each  one. 

11.  In  what  is  the  real  beginning  of  this  story? 

12.  State  all  the  reasons  that  influenced  Ichabod  in  his  wish 

to  marry  Katrina. 

13.  Name  all  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  his  success. 

14.  Write,  and  illustrate  if  you  wish,  a  description  of  Ichabod 

Crane  when  ready  for  the  party.  Write  in  the  first 
person,  and  make  him  reveal  his  satisfaction  and  pride 
in  his  preparations. 

NOTE.  —  Irving  has  described  Ichabod  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  humorist,  as  he  would  appear  to  others.  The  suggestion  of  the 
good  knight,  Don  Quixote,  mounted  on  his  steed  is  irresistible. 

15.  a.  Irving  mentions  descriptions  of  scenery  as  one  of  the 

main  objects  in  view  in  the  composition  of  this 
story.  Consider  pars.  35-38,  as  an  essay  of  de 
scription;  omit  sentences  belonging  to  the  narra 
tive;  outline  these  paragraphs  so  as  to  show  the 
order  and  method  of  description. 

b.  Write  an  introduction  for  your  outline,  giving  in  it 
location,  reasons  for  interest  in  the  scene,  associa 
tions,  etc.  You  may  write  either  in  the  first  person 
as  a  traveller,  or  in  the  third  person •  Which  is 
easier?  Why? 

16.  Find  in  Irving's  description  of  the  arrival  a  plan  which 


TOPICS   FOR   STUDY  385 

you  could  follow  in  writing  of  a  party,  or  of  any  other 
gathering,  now. 

17.  What  sort  of  entertainment,  at  the  present  time,  is  most 

like  the  merrymaking  described  here? 

18.  Compare  the  old-fashioned  party  with  some  social  gather 

ing  which  has  taken  its  place  in  such  a  way  as  to  show 
differences  in  guests,  refreshments,  amusements,  hours, 
etc. 

19.  After  par.  46,  Irving  found  that  he  had  not  told   all 

that  he  wished  the  reader  to  know  about  the  stories 
current  among  the  inhabitants  of  Sleepy  Hollow;  he 
slips  in  an  aside,  therefore,  of  a  general  nature  in  order 
to  show  briefly  what  sort  of  stories  were  told  by  the 
smokers  sitting  in  the  dark. 

a.  Make  titles  for  each  one  of  the  stories  referred  to  here 

which  would  be  apt  for  the  tale  if  it  were  written 
out  in  full. 

b.  Was  there  any  significance  in  Irving 's  mind  in  the 

order  in  which  stories  were  told  on  this  occasion? 

c.  Why  is  a  detailed  description  of  the  church  intro 

duced  here  instead  of  in  the  earlier  part  of  the 
narrative  ? 

20.  Where  did  Irving  resume  the  direct  form  of  story,  and 

how? 

21.  Ichabod's  homeward  ride:  — 

a.  The  mood  in  which  he  set  out. 

b.  The   effect   of   the   time   and    the    scene    upon    his 

nerves. 

c.  Why  did  his  apprehension  increase  as  he  rode  on? 

d.  In  the  historical  story  of  Major  Andre,  why  did  he 

keep   a   rendezvous  at  this  spot?      How  was  he 
betrayed  ? 

e.  What  first  startled  Ichabod? 

/.  Why  was  Ichabod  especially  afraid  to  cross  the  bridge 
at  Wiley's  swamp?  Was  his  horse  frightened? 

g.  The  first  appearance  of  a  real  cause  of  terror :  what 
circumstances  increased  Ichabod's  terror? 

h.    On  what  did  he  depend  for  hope  of  escape? 


386  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

i.  How  did  the  adventure  end? 

22.  Find  in  all  the  story,  to  this  point,  every  indication  Irving 

has  given  that  Ichabod  might  easily  be  terrified  by 
an  unexpected  apparition. 

23.  Enumerate  each  particular  which  added  to  his  terror 

as  the  ride  went  on. 

24.  At  what  moment  was  his  terror  greatest? 

NOTE.  —  "Tarn  O'Shanter's  Ride  "  may  be  read  in  class.  See  com 
ment  for  suggestion  of  the  possible  influence  of  Burns 's  description  in 
Irving's  mind. 

25.  a.   Did  Ichabod  really  believe  in  the  ghost  of  the  Head 

less  Horseman? 

b.  When  he  thought  over  his  adventure,  did  he  believe 

that  this  ghost  had  appeared  to  him? 

c.  What  explanations  of  the  disappearance  of  the  school 

master  were  handed  down  ?     Which  was  the  favor 
ite  one?     Why? 

26.  Tell  the  story  of  Brom  Bones,  not  as  a  ghost  story,  but 

as  the  story  of  how  he  rid  himself  of  a  rival.  Let  Brom 
tell  it  to  his  grandchildren,  one  day,  when  they  have 
brought  him  Irving's  "Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow"  to 
read.  The  title  may  be :  "The  True  Story  of  the  Dis 
appearance  of  the  Schoolmaster."  Brom  must  be 
asked,  also,  to  explain  the  tale  he  told  at  the  party. 

27.  Illustrations  of  the  "  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow  " :  — 

Let  the  class  arrange  an  art  loan  exhibit  which  may 
include :  — 

a.  All  maps,  pictures,  and  relics  of  the  old  Dutch  period. 

b.  Original  drawing  or  maps  made  to  illustrate  Irving's 

story.     For  these,  there  should  be  a  committee  of 
award  who  will  attach  a  blue  ribbon  to  the  best. 

c.  Tableaux  in  costume,  of  scenes  in  the  story,  —  names 

of  scenes  not  announced,  but  to  be  given  by  the 
members  of  the  class,  as  they  are  recognized. 

d.  Photographs  of  buildings,  scenery,  etc.,  from  the  locali 

ties  in  which  the  scenes  of  the  story  were  placed. 


NOTES 

THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIMSELF 

Compare  with  this  account  Addison's  introduction  of  himself  to 
his  readers,  in  No.  1  of  The  Spectator,  Thursday,  March  1,  1710,  in 
which  he  says,  "I  live  in  the  world  rather  as  a  spectator  of  mankind 
than  as  one  of  the  species."  Extracts  from  Irving's  Journal,  in 
Chapters  i  and  ii  of  "Life  and  Letters, "  furnish  comment  on  his  early 
propensity  for  wandering  about,  and  on  his  passion  for  scenery  and 
for  books  of  travel.  A  description  of  Irving's  early  years  in  New 
York  city  will  be  found  in  C.  D.  Warner's  "The  Works  of  Washington 
Irving." 

THE  VOYAGE 

5  :  2.  A  lengthening  chain.  Goldsmith's  "The  Traveller,"  1.  10, 
"And  drag  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain." 

RURAL  LIFE  IN  ENGLAND 

Essays  on  similar  topics  in  the  De  Coverley  Papers  of  The  Spec 
tator  are  "Sir  Roger  goes  A-hunting,"  No.  116,  and  No.  119, 
"Good  Breeding  in  the  Country." 

The  essay,  "Rural  Life  in  England,"  was  sketched  by  Irving  after 
wandering  about  in  the  vicinity  of  Hagley,  the  country  seat  of  Lord 
Lyttelton.  For  correspondence  on  this. subject,  see  "Life  and  Let 
ters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  365,  date,  October  28,  1820. 

For  the  criticism  of  Richard  H.  Dana  on  this  essay,  see  "Life  and 
Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  319;  or  North  American  Review,  Vol.  IX,  p.  322. 

16  :  12.  The  question  of  the  authorship  of  "The  Flower  and  the 
Leaf"  has  occasioned  much  discussion.  It  is  now  believed  that  it 
was  written  in  the  century  following  Chaucer  by  some  one  who 
regarded  him  as  his  master,  and  had  caught  much  of  the  spirit  and 
the  melody  of  the  older  poet's  verse.  The  reasons  for  this  conclusion 
are  summarized  in  "Studies  in  Chaucer,"  by  T.  R.  Lounsbury,  Vol.  I, 
pp.  495-496. 

THE  STAGE-COACH 

Roads  and  coaching  in  England  about  1820.  Irving's  residence  in 
London  was  in  the  heyday  of  coaching  and  travel  by  private  vehicle 
or  on  horseback.  The  description  by  Sir  Walter  Besant  in  "London 
in  the  Eighteenth  Century"  represents  fairly  the  means  of  travel 

,387 


388  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

used  by  Irving  in  1815-1820.  In  that  day  there  were  in  the  city 
and  borough  of  London  more  than  one  hundred  inns  from  which 
coaches,  carrier's  carts,  and  wagons  went  forth  daily  in  every  direc 
tion.  The  service  was  slow ;  a  coach  made,  on  the  average,  about 
seven  miles  an  hour ;  it  took  sixty  hours  for  a  letter  to  go  from  Lon 
don  to  Edinburgh.  Packages  sent  by  carrier  required  three  weeks 
to  reach  the  same  destination.  Travel  by  road  in  those  days  was 
entertaining  and  animated  to  a  degree  difficult  to  imagine  at  the 
present  time.  The  highways  were  crowded  with  every  sort  of 
vehicle  and  travellers  represented  all  conditions  of  rank  or  service, 
while  at  the  inns,  which  were  found  at  frequent  intervals,  the  possi 
bility  of  adventure  and  the  certainty  of  diverse  company  rendered 
the  halt  an  exciting  event.  The  discomfort  of  outside  travel  in 
bad  weather  may  be  gathered  from  novels  and  letters :  David 
Copperfi eld's  journeys  by  the  Yarmouth  coach,  the  experiences  of 
Nicholas  Nickleby,  and  many  others  illustrate  this.  Reference, 
"London  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,"  by  Sir  Walter  Besant,  ch.  iv, 
p.  107,  "Inland  Communication, "etc.  See,  also,  "Hackney  Coach 
Stands"  and  "Early  Coaches,"  in  "Sketches  by  Boz,"  chs.  vii  and 
xv. 

47:7.  The  contention  of  holly  and  ivy.  Brand,  in  "Popular 
Antiquities,"  says  that  holly  appears  to  have  been  used  to  trim  the 
inside  of  houses,  and  he  quotes  a  carol  from  the  Harleian  Mss.  in  which 
alternate  couplets  are  sung  for  holly  and  for  ivy.  P.  280,  note. 

47  : 11.    See,  also,  the  first  paragraph  of  "The  Inn  Kitchen." 

CHRISTMAS  EVE 

The  style  and  arrangement  of  matter  in  this  essay  and  in  the  ones 
following  was  probably  suggested  by  Addison's  De  Coverley  Papers, 
in  The  Spectator.  The  material  is  Irving 's,  but  in  every  paragraph 
is  some  haunting  reminiscence  of  Sir  Roger,  his  hall,  family,  or  man 
ner  of  life.  For  comparison  see  especially  Nos.  106,  107,  108,  112. 

Those  who  are  interested  in  the  early  experiments  which  were 
Irving 's  school  of  literary  art  will  find  the  forerunners  of  the  Christ 
mas  Papers  in  Salmagundi.  Descriptions  of  Cockloft  Hall,  The  Lang- 
staff  family,  Will  Wizard,  Sophia  Sparkle,  etc.,  show  that  Irving,  in 
honest  apprenticeship,  studied  Addison's  essays  carefully  and  en 
deavored  to  form  his  own  style  upon  them. 

Dickens 's  description  of  Christmas  observances  at  Dingley  Dell 
is  in  "Pickwick  Papers,"  ch.  xviii.  Dickens  was  undoubtedly 
familiar  with  "The  Sketch-Book." 

Robin  Goodfeflow,  or  Puck,  was  a  merry  sprite,  both  knavish  and 
shrewd,  particularly  fond  of  playing  pranks  which  disturbed  the 
peace  and  order  of  households.  A  ballad  describing  his  exploits  at 
length  is  quoted  in  "Popular  Antiquities,"  p.  579;  and  he  appears 


NOTES  389 

in  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  Act  ii,  Sc.  1.  Robin  Good- 
fellow  in  literature  has  reappeared  in  Rudyard  Kipling's  "Puck  of 
Pook's  Hill." 

53  :  8.  The  games  mentioned  here  are  all  described  in  "Popular 
Antiquities,"  pp.  516-550,  and  on  pages  280-283  customs  connected 
with  the  hanging  of  the  mistletoe  are  given. 

CHRISTMAS  DAY 

63  :  5.  Another  quotation  from  Herrick,  from  "A  Thanksgiving 
to  God  for  his  House." 

67  :  17.    For  mistletoe,  see  paragraph  8,  page  53. 

72:25.  Dining  with  Duke  Humphry.  Brand  says,  "The  mean 
ing  of  the  popular  expression,  '  to  dine  with  Duke  Humphry, '  applied 
to  persons  who,  being  unable  to  procure  a  dinner  either  by  their  own 
money  or  from  the  favor  of  their  friends,  walk  about  and  loiter  during 
dinner  time,"  after  many  unsuccessful  attempts,  has  at  last  been 
satisfactorily  explained.  It  appears  that  in  the  ancient  church  of 
St.  Paul,  in  London,  to  which  many  persons  used  to  resort  for  exer 
cise,  to  hear  news,  and  otherwise  pass  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  one 
of  the  aisles  was  called  Duke  Humphry's  Walk,  not  that  there  ever 
really  was  a  cenotaph  there  to  the  Duke's  memory,  .  .  .  but  because 
(says  Stowe)  ignorant  people  mistook  the  fair  monument  .  .  . 
which  was  in  the  south  side  of  the  body  of  St.  Paul's  Church  for  that 
of  Humphry,  Duke  of  Gloucester."  Numerous  quotations  follow, 
illustrating  the  origin  of  the  mistake  and  the  popular  use  of  the 
phrase.  —  "Popular  Antiquities,"  pp.  793-795. 

THE  CHRISTMAS  DINNER 

76  :  2.    See  reference  for  page  47,  paragraph  7,  holly  and  ivy. 

Yule  candles.  The  lighting  of  candles  at  Christmas  time  is  an 
ancient  custom,  of  obscure  origin.  In  some  sort  they  were  used  to 
commemorate  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  "Light  of  the  World";  the 
custom  has  survived  its  original  significance,  and  is  now  a  token  of 
the  good  cheer  and  kindliness  which  best  express  the  spirit  of  the 
season.  In  St.  John's  College,  Oxford,  an  ancient  candle  socket  still 
remains,  which  formerly  held  the  Christmas  candle  on  one  of  the 
tables  during  each  of  the  twelve  nights  of  the  festival. 

78:4.  For  a  picture  of  the  bringing  in  of  the  boar's  head,  in  ancient 
times  with  observances  and  carols,  see  Brand's  "Popular  Antiqui 
ties,"  p.  257. 

82  :  10,  11,  12.  The  custom  of  wassailing  is  derived  from  our 
Old  English  ancestors,  and  one  authority  speaks  of  "the  yearly 
Was-haile  in  the  Country  on  the  Vigil  of  the  New  Yeare,"  .  .  . 
as  "a  usual  custom  among  the  Anglo-Saxons  before  Hengist." 

84  : 16.     The  banks  of  the  Isis.     The  tributary  of  the  Thames  at 


390  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Oxford  is  named  the  Isis.  Formerly,  Isis  was  also  a  poetical  name 
for  the  Thames  itself. 

85  :  19.  The  Lord  of  Misrule.  The  custom  of  electing  a  Lord 
of  Misrule  to  preside  over  the  festivities  of  the  holiday  season  was  of 
much  wider  application  than  is  apparent  in  the  quotation  from  Stowe. 
Colleges,  Inns  of  Court,  the  Mayor  of  London  —  in  short,  any  per 
sons  of  sufficient  wealth  and  estate  to  carry  on  the  sports  —  might  elect 
a  Lord  of  Misrule  and  enjoy  the  humors  of  a  motley  king  and  his  court. 
The  wild  blades  of  the  community,  also,  often  banded  together  to  go 
a-mumming  and  playing  of  pranks  beyond  ordinary  license,  under  the 
leadership  of  a  Lord  of  Misrule. 

87  :  21.  Brand,  in  "Popular  Antiquities,  "gives  a  full  account  of  the 
superstitions  associated  with  the  observance  of  the  summer  solstice, 
or  midsummer  eve.  In  all  these  festivals  in  which  sports,  games, 
omens,  and  superstitions  mingle  are  found  survivals  from  Druidism, 
from  the  pagan  religious  ceremonies  of  the  Saxons,  the  Scandi 
navians,  etc. 

89  :  27.  The  reference  for  the  account  of  Irving 's  sojourn  in 
Newstead  Abbey  is,  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  214,  219-220. 
"Newstead  Abbey  "  is  in  "Crayon  Miscellany." 

LITTLE  BRITAIN 

92.  Bow  bells.  The  bells  of  St.  Mary  le  Bow  Church,  which 
stood  on  the  right  side  of  Cheapside  in  the  heart  of  Little  Britain. 
In  1469,  according  to  Stowe,  it  was  ordained  by  the  City  Council  that 
the  bells  of  St.  Mary  le  Bow  should  be  rung  every  night  at  nine  o'clock 
as  a  sign  for  the  closing  of  shops.  People  born  within  sound  of  these 
famous  bells  are  called  Cockneys. 

92  :  2.  Little  Britain,  in  its  name,  commemorates  the  mansion  of 
John,  Duke  of  Bretagne  and  Earl  of  Richmond,  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
II.  The  title,  Duke  of  Bretagne  and  Earl  of  Richmond,  is,  however, 
much  older.  King  John,  in  Shakespeare's  play  (Act  ii,  Sc.  1,  1.  551), 
is  made  to  say,  "For  we'll  create  young  Arthur  Duke  of  Britain  and 
Earl  of  Richmond, "and  Holinshed,  in  his  "Chronicle, "  narrates  that 
John  received  homage  of  his  nephew,  Arthur,  for  Bretagne  and  the 
"Countie  of  Richmont." 

94  :  4.    Irving's  residence  in  Little  Britain.     The  rooms  occupied 
by  Irving's  imaginary  author  were  undoubtedly  his  own  in  August, 
1817,  in  Bartholomew  Close,  off  Aldersgate  Street.     Tradition  says 
that  Milton,  after  the  return  of  the  Stuarts,  took  refuge  in  Bartholo 
mew  Close,  and  here,  also,  came  Benjamin  Franklin  in  1724,  seeking 
work  with  a  famous  printer. 

95  :  6.    In  1831  a  new  St.  Dunstan's  church  was  built  on  the  site 
of  the  old  one.     A  picture  of  the  old  clock,  visible  up  and  down 
Fleet  Street,  is  given  in  Callow's  "Old  London  Taverns,"  p.  216. 


NOTES  391 

95  :  6.  The  lions  in  the  Tower.  The  kings  of  England  kept  their 
wild  beasts  in  the  Tower.  In  the  beginning,  these  were  presents,  — 
three  leopards  from  Emperor  Frederick  of  Germany,  who  thus  paid 
a  delicate  compliment  to  the  quarterings  on  the  royal  arms  of  Eng 
land.  Later,  other  beasts  were  obtained,  and  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
II,  a  lion.  The  wild  beasts  in  the  Tower  soon  became  the  most 
popular  sight  in  London.  In  1834  this  royal  menagerie  was  trans 
formed  into  a  Zoological  Garden. 

95  :  6.  The  giants  in  Guildhall.  Fairholt,  in  his  curious  and  inter 
esting  history  of  the  giants  of  Guildhall,  traces  the  origin  of  civic 
giants  in  England  to  the  guild  observances  of  continental  cities. 
Especially  in  the  cities  where  wealth  and  property  were  due  to  great 
trading  companies,  legendary  history  was  typified  in  civic  giants, 
many  of  whom  became  famous  and  were  copied  in  other  cities  or 
countries.  Antwerp,  Douai,  Brussels,  Lille,  and  many  other  cities 
brought  forth  giants  —  sometimes  in  families  —  as  features  of  all 
civic  or  guild  pageants. 

The  giants  of  Guildhall,  London,  are  of  the  usual  type  and  well  pro 
vided  with  ancestry  and  mythological  adventures  dating  from  the 
landing  of  Brute  in  Britain.  Caxton  relates,  in  his  "  Chronicle  of  Eng 
land,"  the  story  of  the  strife  between  Brute  and  the  giant  Albion  who 
fought  him,  with  his  brothers,  Gog  and  Magog.  In  the  end,  Brute 
triumphed,  founded  a  city  called  New  Troy,  and  built  a  palace  on 
the  spot  where  Guildhall  now  stands ;  the  two  giants,  his  prisoners, 
he  chained  to  the  gate,  one  on  either  side,  as  porters.  According  to 
another  story,  all  the  giants  of  Albion's  army  were  slain  except  one 
brother,  Gogmagog,  who  was  saved  alive  that  Corineus,  a  giant  on 
the  other  side,  might  make  trial  of  strength  with  him.  Of  course 
Gogmagog  perished.  The  dress  and  weapons  of  the  figures  in  Guild 
hall  bear  out  this  tale,  for  Corineus,  a  brother  of  Brute,  is  habited 
in  the  Roman  mode  as  conventionally  depicted  at  the  time  of  the 
manufacture  of  the  giants. 

These  giants  formed  part  of  the  Lord  Mayor's  pageants  and  of  the 
shows  at  the  setting  of  the  watch  on  midsummer  eve.  They  were 
ingeniously  made  of  wicker-work  and  pasteboard,  and  in  time, 
according  to  an  old  account,  by  reason  of  age,  and  with  the  help  of 
a  number  of  city  rats  and  mice,  these  two  old,  weak,  and  feeble  giants 
came  to  dissolution,  after  which  "two  substantial  and  majestic 
giants  "  were  formed  and  fashioned  by  an  eminent  carver,  at  the  city 
charge.  These  were  placed  in  Guildhall  in  1708.  The  figures  were 
about  fourteen  feet  high  and  are  described  as  "monstrous  giants," 
with  black  and  bushy  beards ;  one  holds  a  halbert,  the  other,  a  ball 
set  round  with  spikes,  hanging  by  a  chain  to  a  long  staff. 

These  figures  were  originally  placed  on  each  side  of  the  entrance  to 
the  Council  chamber.  "They  were  ponderously  constructed  of  wood, 
but  hollow  within,"  upward  of  fifteen  feet  in  height,  and  were  evi- 


392  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

dently  made  for  the  permanent  decoration  of  the  building  and  not  for 
carrying  through  the  city  on  festive  days,  as  were  their  predecessors. 
In  1815,  when  the  hall  underwent  repairs,  the  giants  were  repainted 
and  set  on  pedestals  on  either  side  of  the  great  west  window,  where 
they  now  stand.  In  1837  they  were  again  restored,  and  in  that  year 
copies  of  these  giants,  fourteen  feet  in  height,  were  introduced  in  the 
Lord  Mayor's  show,  each  walking  by  the  aid  of  a  man  within  it; 
and  they,  from  time  to  time,  turned  their  faces  to  the  spectators  who 
lined  the  streets.  —  Condensed  from  "Gog  and  Magog,  the  Giants  in 
Guildhall,"  by  F.  W.  Fairholt. 

97  :  8.  The  good  old  king.  George  the  Third  died  on  January  29, 
1820.  This  essay,  which  was  a  part  of  "The  Sketch-Book,"No.  VII, 
was  published  in  September  of  the  same  year.  The  expression  used 
by  Irving  is  little  more  than  a  courteous  form  of  speech,  since  the 
king  had  been  hopelessly  insane  for  ten  years  or  more. 

The  "Manchester  Massacre,"  August  16,  1819;  the  "Cato  Street 
Conspiracy,"  a  plot  to  assassinate  the  ministry  of  the  new  king, 
February  23,  1820;  and  the  return  of  Queen  Caroline,  from  whom 
George  IV  was  determined  to  secure  a  divorce,  were  all  political 
events  of  the  year  in  which  these  essays  were  written,  and  more 
over,  were  causes  of  much  excitement  and  partisan  feeling  in  Eng 
land.  Details  of  these  events  may  be  found  in  any  good  history  of 
England  for  this  period. 

100 :  14.  St.  Bartholomew's  fair.  St.  Bartholomew's  fair  was 
established  by  Rahere,  king's  jester  to  Henry  I,  and  was  a  market 
granted  for  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Day  (August  24)  to  con 
tinue  through  two  days  after.  The  duration  of  the  fair,  or  market, 
was  extended  later  to  fourteen  days.  This  great  market  established, 
in  the  beginning,  as  a  centre  of  trade,  declined  into  a  saturnalia  which 
covertly  admitted  many  shameful  abuses.  Cloth  Fair,  the  last  relic 
of  this  famous  old  market,  came  to  an  end  in  1855. 

102  :  15.  Temple  Bar.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  gates  of 
walled  cities  were  closed  each  night,  extra-mural  settlements  often 
grew  up  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  gates  opening  upon  important 
highways  of  travel.  Taxes  and  fees  were  collected  at  gates  of  en 
trance  to  the  inner  city.  This  probably  fostered  the  growth  of  an 
outer  city  of  residences  and  of  hostelries,  shops,  etc.,  for  the  accom 
modation  of  travellers.  As  the  number  of  inhabitants  without  the 
walls  increased,  they  desired  the  privileges  and  protection  of  the  city, 
without  the  restraints  of  life  within  the  gates,  and  extra-mural  pre 
cincts  were  enclosed  by  a  "loop-line  of  crenellated  works."  A  fringe 
of  settlement  again  grew  up  outside  of  this  extra-mural  precinct, 
and  this,  if  not  enclosed,  in  turn  was  brought  within  the  liberty  of 
the  city  by  bars,  or  in  other  words,  by  posts  and  rails  with  a  chain 
to  fix  across  the  road,  in  case  of  need. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  gates  of  the  old  walled  city  of  London 


NOTES  393 

were  settlements  enclosed  in  this  manner,  the  entrances  to  which 
were  known  as  Smithfield  Bar,  Holborn  Bar,  and  Whitechapel  Bar; 
these  marked  the  line  of  separation  between  the  city  and  the  county 
of  Middlesex.  A  fourth,  Temple  Bar,  so  named  from  the  house  and 
chapel  of  the  Knights  Templar  which  stood  near,  marked  the  limit 
of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  city  of  London  toward  the  independent  city 
of  Westminster.  By  the  time  of  Edward  III  the  post  and  chain  had 
been  replaced  by  a  wooden  structure,  in  the  semblance  of  a  city  gate ; 
this  was  destroyed  by  fire  early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  but  was 
immediately  rebuilt.  It  was  again  burnt  in  the  fire  of  1666,  after 
which  it  was  rebuilt  in  more  permanent  form,  from  a  design  by 
Christopher  Wren.  It  had  a  central  gateway,  twenty  feet  wide,  a 
gateway  for  foot  passengers,  five  feet  nine  inches  wide ;  it  was  built 
of  Portland  stone,  and  ornamented  on  each  side  with  statues.  The 
depth  of  the  arches,  seventeen  and  one-half  feet,  admitted  of  a  cham 
ber  above  the  central  gateway.  In  1877  Temple  Bar  was  pulled 
down  for  the  widening  of  the  Strand  and  the  erection  of  the  new  Law 
Courts.  It  was  removed  to  Meux  Park,  near  Enfield,  and  soon 
after  a  memorial  was  erected  to  mark  the  spot  where  it  formerly 
stood. 

The  curious  ceremony  to  which  Irving  refers  in  paragraph  15 
took  place  on  the  entrance  of  a  sovereign  into  the  city  and  was 
attended  with  much  magnificence.  After  the  entry  of  the  king  or 
queen,  the  gates  were  closed ;  the  king  then  humbly  solicited  of  the 
Lord  Mayor  liberty  of  egress,  and  forthwith  the  gates  were  thrown 
open,  and  the  keys  of  the  city  delivered  to  the  royal  guest,  who 
returned  them  with  words  to  the  effect  that  they  could  not  be  in 
more  honorable  custody.  This  custom  was  revived,  occasionally,  to 
modern  times;  it  took  place,  for  the  last  time,  in  1844,  on  the  en 
trance  of  Queen  Victoria  to  the  city,  for  the  opening  of  the  Royal 
Exchange. 

106 : 20.  The  references  to  Kean  and  the  Edinburgh  Review 
illustrate  the  inclination  of  an  author  to  slip  into  his  writings  matters 
of  personal  interest.  Kean  was  acting  Shakespearian  parts  in  Lon 
don  in  the  years  in  which  "The  Sketch- Book"  was  written,  and 
Irving 's  acquaintance  with  Scott,  and,  later,  his  connection  with 
Murray,  gave  him  a  special  interest  in  the  Edinburgh  Review. 

LONDON  ANTIQUES 

113  :2.  The  chapel  of  the  Knights  Templar.  The  new  temple 
of  the  Knights  Templar  was  built  as  a  round  church  in  the  second 
half  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  was  dedicated  in  1185  by  Heraclius, 
Patriarch  of  Jerusalem.  Round  churches  were  rare  in  England  ;  only 
five  others  were  built  in  that  style.  The  oblong  part  of  the  New 
Temple  was  added  later  and  consecrated  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III. 


394  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

The  New  Temple  became  the  treasure  house  of  the  kings  of  Eng 
land,  and  kings  themselves  occasionally,  when  hard  pressed,  took 
refuge  there.  In  the  contest  with  his  barons  which  preceded  the 
signing  of  Magna  Charta,  King  John  withdrew  to  the  New  Temple 
and  resided  in  it  for  some  time.  It  is  said  that  he  slept  there  the 
night  before  signing  the  document,  and  signed  by  the  advice  of  the 
Grand  Master  of  the  Temple,  then  named  St.  Maur. 

Students  of  Scott's  "Ivanhoe  "  will  recall  that  the  scenes  at  Tem- 
plestowe,  during  the  visit  of  the  Grand  Master,  belong  to  the  same 
historical  period.  For  special  reference,  see  "The  History  of  the 
Temple,"  by  G.  Pitt  Lewis,  London,  1898. 

118  :  14.  Charterhouse  has  a  history  antecedent  to  the  foundation 
mentioned  by  Irving.  In  1371,  Sir  Walter  Manly  founded  a  monas 
tery  of  Carthusian  monks  at  this  place.  The  name  Charterhouse  is 
a  corrupt  form  of  Chartreuse,  the  name  of  the  greatest  house  of  the 
Carthusians,  La  Grande  Chartreuse,  still  situated  on  the  mountains 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Grenoble,  France.  Henry  VIII  dissolved  this 
monastery,  hanged  the  last  prior,  and  set  his  head  upon  London 
bridge,  then  gave  the  property  to  his  chancellor.  It  passed  to  vari 
ous  owners  and  in  due  time,  by  purchase,  to  Thomas  Sutton,  who 
endowed  it  as  the  Hospital  of  St.  James  Foundation.  This  founda 
tion  provides  for  eighty  old  brothers,  or  pensioners,  who  are  to  receive 
a  home  and,  annually,  £36  and  a  gown.  There  was  also  a  school, 
and  twenty  exhibitions,  or  scholarships,  of  £80  each,  good  for  four 
years  at  "any  University  or  other  place  of  preparation  for  life." 

In  1872,  the  school,  made  famous  by  Thackeray's  pen,  was  re 
moved  to  Godalming,  in  Surrey.  The  old  schoolhouse  and  build 
ings  have  been  rebuilt,  and  are  now  tenanted  by  the  school  of  the 
Merchant  Tailors'  Company.  —  From  Fry's  "London,"  1890,  pp. 
164-165. 

Washhouse  Court  is  on  the  left  of  the  northern  quadrangle  of 
Charterhouse.  It  is  in  one  of  the  little  houses  of  this  court  that 
Thackeray  paints  the  beautiful  death  of  Thomas  Newcome.  —  Hare's 
"Walks  in  London,"  Vol.  I,  p.  197. 

The  Great  Hall  was  formerly  the  drawing-room,  and  famous  for 
its  beautiful  ceiling  and  Flemish  fireplace ;  the  Pensioners'  Hall  of 
the  present  time  was  the  great  hall  of  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk. 

THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP 

122  :  1.  Irving  seems  to  have  found  the  suggestion  of  this  essay 
in  Goldsmith's  "Diverting  History  and  Droll  Adventures  of  Sir  John 
Falstaff,"  and  he  drew  more  than  one  hint  from  the  earlier  writer. 
Goldsmith,  as  sleep  fell  on  his  eyes,  metamorphosed  his  host  into  the 
likeness  of  Dame  Quickly ;  he  suggests  a  snuff-box,  and  makes  men 
tion  of  the  drawer  who  was  buried  in  St.  Michael's  churchyard.  He 


NOTES  395 

also  failed,  as  did  Irving  later,  of  his  original  quest,  because  the 
tavern  had  just  been  sold  and  was  closed  to  visitors,  and  he,  too,  went 
from  one  person  to  another  in  search  of  information. 

A  rare  book,  printed  in  the  eighteenth  century,  bearing  the  title, 
"Diverting  History  and  Droll  Adventures  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,"  with 
Dr.  Goldsmith's  name  on  the  title  page,  contains  three  parts,  namely : 

I.  An  Essay  on  the  Character  of  Sir  John  Falstaff. 

II.  The    History,   Droll    Adventures,   Memorable   Exploits,   and 
Comical   Humors  of  the   Renowned,  Facetious,  and   Diverting  Sir 
John  Falstaff. 

III.  History  of  Boar's  Head  Tavern,   in  Eastcheap,   from  Dr. 
Goldsmith. 

These  papers  were  apparently  later  than  Goldsmith's  essay,  "A 
Reverie  in  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap,"  for  they  refer  many 
times  to  Dr.  Goldsmith  as  source  of  information,  and  seem  facetiously 
designed  as  a  reply  to  some  criticism  upon  certain  phrases  in  that 
composition;  such  as,  "in  the  very  room,"  "in  the  very  chair." 
The  following  description  is  quoted  from  Goldsmith's  "History 
of  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap."  Goldsmith  wrote  for  enter 
tainment,  mingling  what  he  read  in  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  in  old 
histories,  with  traditions  and  the  ideas  of  his  own  time. 

"  The  original  building  was  wood,  constructed  according  to  the 
manner  of  the  times,  with  one  story  projecting  over  the  other,  and 
ornamented  with  vast  Gothic  windows,  in  the  middle  of  which  was 
to  be  seen  some  pleasant  device,  achievement,  or  coat  of  arms  stained 
in  the  glass.  At  the  door  stood  a  vast  grapevine,  growing  upon  the 
supporters,  and  over  the  doorway  a  blue  boar,  a  Bacchus,  a  tun,  and 
a  bunch  of  grapes.  The  apartments  within,  were  accommodated 
with  mighty  large  chimney  places,  adorned  with  great  impost  carv 
ings  much  in  the  bacchanalian  style ;  and  if  the  reader  has  ever  been 
to  Westminster  Abbey  and  has  taken  up  the  seats,  which  turn  with 
hinges,  in  Henry  Seventh's  Chapel,  he  has  seen  specimens  of  the 
sculpture  of  the  days  of  Sir  John  Falstaff.  Each  side  of  the  door 
way  was  a  vine  branch  carved  in  wood,  loaded  with  leaves  and  clus 
ters;  on  the  top  of  each  was  a  little  Falstaff,  eight  inches  high,"  etc. 

124  :  5.  Thackeray,  many  years  later,  in  the  first  paragraphs  of 
his  essay  on  Steele,  seems  almost  to  have  taken  his  text  from  Irving. 
Read  what  he  says  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  Mariner,  and  of  the  power  of 
writings  like  The  Spectator  and  The  Tattler  to  bring  back  a  by-gone 
age. 

126 :  11.  Hare,  in  "Walks  in  London,  "  Vol.  I,  p.  329,  says  that 
London  Stone  is  now  built  into  the  church  of  St.  Swithin  on  the  side 
facing  Cannon  Street  station.  It  is  encased  in  masonry  and  protected  by 
an  iron  grille.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  Roman  Milliarium,  the 
central  terminus  from  which  milestones  measured  distance  on  roads 
radiating  all  over  England,  as  in  Rome  the  golden  Milliarium  in  the 


396  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Forum  was  the  centre  from  which  all  roads  radiated.  London  Stono 
was  removed  from  its  former  position  on  the  south  side  of  the  street, 
in  1798.  Stowe  describes  it  as  fixed  in  the  ground,  in  his  day,  and 
protected  by  iron  bars. 

129:17.  Callow,  in  "Old  London  Taverns,"  p.  97,  mentions 
a  "Drawer  at  the  Boar's  Head,  in  Great  Eastcheap, "  Robert  Preston 
by  name,  who  was  buried  in  the  churchyard  of  St.  Michael's,  on 
which  the  rear  part  of  the  old  tavern  looked  out. 

131:21.  "Bullyrock."  Shakespeare's  phrase  is  "bully-rook," 
but  bully-rock  is  found  frequently  in  other  writers.  In  the  Oxford 
Dictionary,  the  word  is  defined  as  "a  brava,  a  hired  ruffian  who  is 
also  a  rook,  or  sharper."  For  Shakespeare's  use  of  this  phrase,  see 
"Merry  Wives,"  Act  i,  Sc.  3,  1.  2;  Act  ii,  Sc.  1, 11.  200,  207,  213,  etc. 

132  :  24.    The  reference  here  is  to  the  "Martinus  Scriblerus  Club," 
formed  by  Pope,  Swift,  and  Arbuthnot,  for  the  purpose  of  satirizing, 
under  a  slight  anonymity,  literary  incompetence.     "The  Scriblerus 
Memoirs  "  contain  the  description  to  which  Irving  refers,  and  were 
written  in  great  part  by  Arbuthnot. 

133  :  26.    Parcel-gilt  goblet.     "  Henry  IV,"  P.  II,  Act.  i,  Sc.  1, 1. 94. 

134  :  30.    Tedious-brief.     "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  Act  v, 
Sc.  1, 1.  56. 

135:31.  The  shield  of  Achilles.  The  Iliad,  Bk.  18,  11.  480-608; 
in  Lang,  Leaf  and  Myers'  translation,  pp.  380-385. 

The  Portland  vase.  A  cinerary  urn,  or  vase,  found  in  the 
tomb  of  the  emperor  Alexander  Severus,  and  long  in  the  pos 
session  of  the  Barberini.  In  1779  it  was  purchased  by  Sir  W. 
Hamilton,  and  afterward  came  into  the  possession  of  the  Duchess  of 
Portland.  In  1810  the  Duke  of  Portland,  its  owner,  and  one  of  the 
trustees  of  the  British  Museum,  allowed  it  to  be  placed  there  for 
exhibition.  In  1845  it  was  maliciously  broken  to  pieces.  It  has 
since  been  repaired,  but  is  not  now  shown  to  the  public. 

It  is  ten  inches  high  and  six  inches  in  diameter  at  the  broadest 
part,  of  transparent  dark  blue  glass,  coated  with  opaque  white  glass, 
cut  in  cameo  on  each  side  into  groups  of  figures  in  relief,  representing 
the  marriage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis. — From  "The  Encyclopedic 
Dictionary."  Cassell  and  Co. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

Irving 's  "Westminster  Abbey"  suggests  earlier  essays  on  similar 
themes,  which  may,  perhaps,  have  been  starting  points  for  his 
thought;  such  are  "Reflections  in  Westminster  Abbey,"  Spectator, 
No.  26 ;  and  "An  Account  of  Westminster  Abbey  "  in  "A  Citizen  of 
the  World,"  Letter  xiii  by  Goldsmith.  For  later  visits  of  Irving, 
and  for  his  residence  in  Little  Cloisters,  see  "Life  and  Letters," 
Vol.  II,  p.  393. 


NOTES 


397 


140  :  7.  Burial  in  Westminster  Abbey.  In  the  beginning,  only 
royal  and  ecclesiastical  persons  were  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey 
by  right ;  a  few  others  were  grudgingly  admitted  by  royal  command 
and  by  the  abbot's  favor.  Chaucer  is.  supposed  to  have  received 


burial  in  the  Abbey  because  he  lived  in  a  house  within  the  enclosure, 
abutting  on  old  Lady  Chapel ;  he  was  also  clerk  of  the  works  at 
Westminster  Palace.  Later,  for  many  generations,  the  privilege  of 
sepulture  in  the  Abbey  was  awarded  by  direct  command  of  the 
sovereign.  Cromwell  originated  the  idea,  which  was  taken  up  by 


398  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Parliament,  that  the  plain  citizen,  be  he  statesman,  soldier,  or  sailor, 
who  deserved  public  recognition,  might  be  honored  thus.  The  cus 
tom  has  since  become  a  national  observance.  Henry  VIII,  and  later 
Elizabeth,  defined  the  functions  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter  with  refer 
ence  especially  to  Westminster  School,  and  since  that  time  they 
have  been  practically  the  administrative  body.  At  the  present  time, 
the  proposal  to  honor  the  illustrious  dead  by  burial  in  the  Abbey 
originates  either  in  memorials  presented  to  the  Dean,  as  in  the  case 
of  Charles  Darwin,  or  in  the  invitation  of  the  Dean,  as  for  Robert 
Browning,  Charles  Dickens,  and  Lord  Tennyson. —  From  "Roll  Call 
of  Westminster  Abbey, "  by  E.  T.  Bradley,  and  "Westminster  Abbey, " 
by  Dean  Farrar. 

142  :  10  Mrs.  Nightingale's  tomb.  A  picture  of  this  famous 
work  is  given  in  Ackermann's  "The  History  of  St.  Peter's,  T  jstmin- 
ster, "opposite  page  193  ;  from  this  illustration  the  reader  may  judge 
for  himself  of  the  remarkable  character  of  the  monument. 

147  :  24.  The  quotation  from  Sir  Thomas  Browne  is  from  "Urn 
Burial,"  ch.  v,  an  essay  which  may  well  have  influenced  Irving's 
thoughts  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

THE   MUTABILITY   OF   LITERATURE 

Westminster  School.  Westminster  School  was  established  in  1540  by 
Henry  VIII.  When  the  monastic  house  attached  to  the  Abbey  was 
dissolved,  a  bishopric  was  founded  from  the  confiscated  revenues,  and 
also  a  school  for  forty  scholars,  with  an  upper  and  an  under  master. 
Under  Queen  Mary,  the  whole  reformed  establishment  was  swept 
away,  and  for  a  short  time  Westminster  enjoyed  the  distinction  of 
the  full  cathedral.  Elizabeth  restored  her  father's  foundation  in 
every  particular,  and  gave  the  statutes  under  which  the  school  has 
been  governed  to  the  present  time.  The  school  originally  admitted 
three  classes  of  scholars,  designated  by  the  old  Latin  names.  These 
were  the  "Queen's  Scholars,"  forty  in  number,  on  Elizabeth's  founda 
tion,  the  aristocrats  of  the  school;  the  day  scholars  of  the  city  of 
Westminster,  who  were  admitted  by  payment  of  fees ;  and  the 
strangers,  or  students  from  without  the  walls,  who  were  able  to  colo 
nize  with  relatives  or  responsible  persons  within  the  limits  and  thus 
share  the  privileges  of  day  students.  Of  these  two  classes,  eighty 
pupils,  were  admitted. 

The  requirement  that  a  Latin  play  should  be  acted  annually  was 
included  in  the  ordinances  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  practice  has  con 
tinued,  practically  without  interruption,  to  the  present  day.  The 
privileges  of  the  king's  scholars  have  also  survived;  among  these, 
the  right  of  the  scholars  of  Westminster  to  occupy,  every  day,  six 
seats  in  the  stranger's  gallery  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  on 
Sundays  the  right  of  walking  on  the  terrace  of  the  House.  The  school 
also  still  exercises  its  ancient  privilege  of  assembling  for  prayers  in 


NOTES  399 

the  Poets'  Corner  of  the  Abbey.  For  full  description  of  this  interest 
ing  school,  and  for  pictures  of  the  library  and  buildings  in  Irving's 
day,  consult  "Westminster  School,"  in  the  series,  "Handbooks  to 
Great  Public  Schools." 

NOTES  ON  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  "WESTMINSTER  ABBEY"  AND  OP 
"THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE"  TO  BE  FOUND  IN  LIBRARIES 

For  purposes  of  illustration,  "Westminster  Abbey  "  and  "The  Muta 
bility  of  Literature  "  are  grouped  together.  The  list  of  illustrations 
given  below,  and  also  those  in  the  Bibliography,  have  been  arranged 
by  Mr.  George  Turner  Phelps,  of  Cambridge,  in  order  of  use  for  a 
consecutive  view  of  the  Abbey,  as  it  appeared  to  Irving.  Teachers 
who  follow  the  suggestions  carefully  will  succeed  in  giving  an  idea  of 
the  architecture,  plan,  and  proportions,  of  the  great  Abbey  not  often 
gained  from  illustrative  material ;  illustrations  of  detail,  often  wonder 
ful  in  accuracy  and  beauty,  mean  little  in  reference  to  a  building  like 
Westminster  Abbey, unless  they  are  related  to  it  in  some  intelligible  way. 

For  study  of  the  monuments  in  the  Abbey  and  its  chapels,  the 
most  available  and  serviceable  book  is  Bradley 's  "Roll  Call  of  West 
minster  Abbey." 

The  plan  of  the  Abbey  on  page  397  is  for  use  in  connection  with 
the  illustrations.  Other  plans  will  be  found  in  the  books  referred  to. 

The  full  list  of  references  for  illustration  of  Irving's  view  of  the 
Abbey  aftef  he  reached  the  nave  is  too  long  to  give  here.  A  key 
for  arranging  such  lists  from  single  books  is  given  on  pp.  414-415. 

The  following  note,  written  by  the  same  critic  who  selected  the 
illustrations  of  Westminster  Abbey,  defines  both  the  experience  of 
the  author  who  wrote  the  essay,  and  the  purpose  in  the  selection  and 
arrangement  of  illustrative  material  for  use  in  the  schoolroom. 
The  teacher  who  catches  the  spirit  and  mood  of  Irving,  by  use  of  the 
suggestions  here  made  will  be  able  to  give  the  pupils  in  his  classes 
a  lasting  impression  of  England's  great  Abbey. 

"  In  this  essay  Irving  attempts  to  reproduce  the  experience  of  a 
day  spent  sentimentalizing  about  ideas  suggested  by  various  objects 
seen  and  heard  in  Westminster  Abbey.  He  calls  his  mental  attitude 
'contemplation*  of  objects  before  him.  One  inscription  (1[  9) 
and  one  monument  (^f  10)  he  saw  accurately,  but  he  uses  these 
instances  for  discussions  entirely  aside  from  his  description,  which 
they  interrupt.  His  one  other  accurate  (?)  account  (Tf  9)  is  of 
an  effigy  which  does  not  exist.  It  is,  in  reality,  an  aggregate  of 
details  from  three  monuments  in  the  chapel  of  St.  Edmund  and  a 
fourth  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Sanctuary.  Moreover,  curiously 
enough,  the  crossed  legs  are  not  the  Crusader's ;  are,  indeed,  from  the 
Sanctuary ;  his  buckler  is  not  on  his  arm  ;  and  his  morion  is  just  the 
wrong  headgear.  Had  Irving  contemplated  objects  before  him,  his 


400  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

eyes  would  not  have  found  a  'peculiar  melancholy'  (^[  18)  reign 
ing  about  Mary  Stuart's  tomb.  The  darkness  might  have  seemed 
very  appropriate,  but  the  sentimentality  would  have  vanished  with 
the  realization  that  her  aisle  was  more  gloomy  than  Elizabeth's 
because  it  was  closer  to  other  buildings  beyond  its  'windows  dark 
ened  by  dust.'  In  reality,  since  he  scarcely  saw  anything  accurately, 
he  came  away  (If  24)  mentally  in  mere  confusion. 

"Quite  in  contradiction  to  his  sentimental  attitude,  his  sense  of 
humor  shows  genuine  in  ^f  6.  Again,  and  aside  from  interest  in  the 
Abbey  as  cemetery  and  'memento  mori,'  which  might  be  equally 
true  of  any  other  building  used  for  burials,  his  artist  eye  is  pleased 
by  forms  of  decaying  stone  (If  2),  by  contrasts  of  light  and  shade; 
his  ear  is  alert  to  effects  of  bells,  steps,  voices,  music.  If  only  his 
mind  had  been  awake,  he  might  have  detected  the  source  and  the 
kind  of  his  very  genuine  emotion,  and  have  given  us  an  equally  in 
telligent  idea  of  the  building.  His  essay  is  the  result  of  cumulative 
emotional  experience  within  the  Abbey,  quite  independent  of  knowl 
edge  of  architectural  art,  almost  of  architectural  detail,  and  it  repro 
duces  for  the  reader  a  similar  emotion  wholly  apart  from  knowledge 
of  the  building.  While  the  feelings  are  usually  related  entirely  to 
secondary  objects  quite  as  accidental  as  furniture  in  an  ordinary 
room,  nevertheless,  if  the  reader  omit  the  two  closing  paragraphs  writ 
ten  only  for  moral  effect,  he  shuts  the  cloister  door  with  Irving,  shar 
ing  the  actual  emotion  roused  by  mere  waiting,  hour  after  hour,  within 
the  walls  of  the  building  which  has  barely  been  noticed  for  itself. 

"Irving's  actual  experience  cannot  be  reproduced  on  the  spot. 
The  physical  conditions  have  greatly  changed  in  the  succeeding  cen 
tury.  Yet,  with  all  the  variations  in  detail  which  have  come  during 
the  later  life  of  the  Abbey,  present  experience  would  produce  for 
present  minds  corresponding  emotion.  In  books,  we  can  see  ex 
actly  what  he  saw;  although  we  cannot  in  fact  visit  his  building, 
we  can  feel  just  as  he  felt. 

"The  illustrations  selected  for  'Westminster  Abbey'  and  'Muta 
bility  of  Literature'  are  from  a  list  chosen  from  various  books  to 
build  up  a  cumulative  emotional  experience  parallel  to  that  given  by 
Irving  through  literary  means,  by  sight  of  the  structure  before  his 
eyes  as  he  took  the  actual  or  imaginary  walk  described,  indeed,  the 
original  source  of  his  own  emotion.  Some  of  the  pictures  are  as  he 
saw  details,  some  are  of  our  own  time.  A  comparison  of  variants 
would  be  an  illuminating  study  of  the  ever  changing  life  of  buildings 
centuries  old. 

"  The  clew  to  the  impression  flf^f  2  and  4)  is  contrast  in  size  of 
buildings,  but  not  the  contrast  of  immense  size  with  man.  There, 
Irving's  intelligence  failed  him.  Mere  bigness  destroys  its  own 
effect,  for  it  cannot  be  seen,  and  either  scatters  attention,  or  turns 
the  mind  back  upon  itself.  Even  a  small  model  of  the  Abbey  pro- 


NOTES  401 

duces  the  impression  of  the  original,  which  is  caused  by  the  relation 
of  the  parts  of  the  building  to  each  other;  not  by  'arches  ...  to 
...  an  amazing  height,'  but  by  arches  supporting  arches  which 
again  support  arches;  not  by  'spaciousness'  or  great  distances, 
but  by  succession  of  part  beyond  part;  not  a  matter  of  size  or 
scale,  but  a  matter  of  proportion,  the  relation  of  visible  parts  into 
one  dominating,  visible  whole. 

"Although  Irving 's  contemplation  had  brought  him  nothing  but 
mental  confusion,  his  eye,  his  ear,  his  feet,  hour  by  hour,  had  stored 
up  impression  upon  impression  of  part  repeated  and  repeated  into 
distance,  in  various  directions. 

"  It  is  extremely  interesting  to  study  how  his  use  of  material, 
surprisingly  little  in  quantity,  very  largely  accidental  and  secondary 
to  the  building  itself,  results  for  us  in  almost  total  unconsciousness 
of  the  means,  but  in  vivid  sense-impression  of  having  been  with  him 
in  that  specific  and  perfectly  definite  building,  which  he  does  not 
describe,  which,  indeed,  he  was  not  consciously  seeing;  an  impression 
merely  of  repetitions  cumulating  into  related  distances,  —  archi 
tectural  characteristics  of  Westminster  Abbey." 

NOTE. — Written  by  G.  T.  P.,  by  request  of  the  editor.  —  D. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  THE  BOOKS  SUGGESTED  FOR  IRVING'S 
ENTRANCE  AND  ROUTE. 

AIRY,  p.  3,  1902.  Little   Dean's  Yard,   Entrance.     (About 

AIRY,  p.  37.  1840.) 

LOFTIE,  p.  301.  Gable  of  Schoolroom  (Monks'  Dormi 
tory).  Place  of  Irving 's  entrance 
under  modern  schoolrooms. 

BOLAS,  plate  61.  Entrance      and     Door      to     School,     to 

HIATT,  p.  126,  plate  115.  Cloister,  to  Little  Cloister,  etc.     Outer 

BESANT,  W.,  p.  109,  also  wall  of  school,  of  monk's  refectory,  etc. 
pp.  137,  139,  141,  143. 
See  also 

AIRY,  p.  166. 

LOFTIE,  p.  32. 

BOLAS,  plate  51. 

FEASEY,  p.  44. 

ACKERMANN,  Vol.  II.,  Southeast   Corner    Cloister,     Pyx    Door, 

p.  260.  Library  Door  (present  time),   Irving's 
Library  Door. 

BRAYLEY,  p.  282.  East  Cloister,  and  Door  to  South  Tran- 

STANLEY,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  50.  sept. 

LOFTIE,  p.  308. 

BOLAS,  plate  15.  Southeast   corner    of    Abbey,   including 

FEASEY,  plate  7,  pp.  4-8.  North  Walk. 


402 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


BOLAS,  plate  4. 
FEASEY,  Frontispiece. 
HIATT,  p.  29. 
SCOTT,  Frontispiece. 


LOFTIE,  p.  43. 
BOLAS,  plate  32. 
FEASEY,  p.  40. 
BRAYLEY,  p.  283. 


Towers  from  Southeast  corner. 

View  from  Southeast  corner. 

South  Walk"  and  Exit  to  "The  Elms" 
(whence  came  the  interruption  of  "The 
Mutability  of  Literature,"  par.  1). 

Southeast  corner. 

West  Walk. 

West  Walk,  Door  to  Aisle  of  Nave,  sug 
gests  Irving 's  Contrast  of  Size,  par.  4. 
Deanery  Door  (now  gone). 


FEASEY,  plate  6,  p.  48. 
LOFTIE,  p.  17. 

A   key   to   illustrations   corresponding   with    Irving 's   description 
in  order  and  in  selection,  will  be  found  in  Bibliography,  p.  414. 


FOR  THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE 


LOFTIE,  pp.  43,  205. 
BOLAS,  plates  32,  50,  25. 
FEASEY,  44,  48,  plate  2. 
AIRY,  p.  58. 
HIATT,  pp.  114,  119. 
SCOTT,  p.  195,  plate  xxix 
SCOTT,  p.  39. 
HIATT,  p.  40. 
STANLEY,  Vol.  Ill,  49. 

ROLL  CALL,  p.  159. 


AIRY,  p.  21. 
AIRY,  p.  2. 

By  use  of  plans  and 
School, "  an  interesting 
school  may  be  arranged 


For  South  Transept. 
For  East  Cloister. 
For  Chapter  House. 
For  Library  Window,  etc. 

,     Restoration  of  Chapter  House  and  En 
trance,  Irving 's  Library  Entrance. 
Chapter  House,  as  Irving  saw  it. 
Discovery  of  Old  Dormitory  Stairs,  now 

the  Library  Stairs. 
The    Library  (three   eighths  of    the  old 

Monk's  Dormitory). 

For    the  Upper    School   (the  other   five 

eighths  of  old  Monk's  Dormitory), — 

as  Irving  saw  it,  and  as  it  is  to-day. 

historical  account  in  Airy's  "Westminster 

illustrated  study  of  this   old  and   famous 


JOHN  BULL 

Irving's  essay  on  "John  Bull"  is  quite  different  from  Goldsmith's 
reflections  on  the  same  subject;  the  reading  of  the  earlier  papers 
suggests,  however,  that  the  author  of  "John  Bull  "  was  familiar  with 
them.  See  "The  Sentiments  of  a  Frenchman  on  the  Temper  of  the 
English,"  in  "The  Bee,"  pp.  435-437,  Goldsmith's  Works,  Vol.  II, 
"  Bell  and  Sons,"  1884,  and  "The  Influence  of  Climate  and  Soil  upon 
the  Tempers  and  Dispositions  of  the  English,"  Letter  xci,  in  "A 
Citizen  of  the  World,"  also  Letter  xc,  "The  English  Subject  to  the 


NOTES  403 

Spleen."  .  .  .  "When  the  men  of  this  country  are  once  turned  of 
thirty-three  they  regularly  retire  every  year  at  proper  intervals  to  lie 
in  of  the  spleen." 

John  Bull.  The  story  of  the  development  of  the  typical  figure 
of  John  Bull  is,  in  reality,  the  history  of  caricature  in  England.  The 
Reformation,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  following,  as  it  did,  immedi 
ately  upon  the  first  general  diffusion  of  printed  matter,  gave  rise  to 
a  crop  of  caricatures.  In  free  Holland,  the  home  of  printing-presses, 
caricatures  were  at  once  domesticated,  and  cartoons  issuing  from 
thence  circulated  freely  in  England.  In  the  seventeenth  century, 
Cavaliers  and  Roundheads  seized  upon  caricature  as  a  means  of 
effective  appeal  to  the  commonalty,  and  from  this  time  the  habit 
was  thoroughly  established  in  Great  Britain.  The  wits  and  humor 
ists  of  the  eighteenth  century  did  much  to  strengthen  the  taste  for 
caricature  in  the  English  public  and  cartoons  soon  became  an  im 
portant  aid  in  all  political  controversies  as  well  as  a  means  of  satir 
izing  social  foibles.  The  great  wars  at  the  end  of  the  century, 
especially  the  American  Revolution  and  the  Napoleonic  wars,  called 
forth  such  a  multitude  of  cartoons  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  trace 
the  history  of  the  time  in  the  caricatures  of  the  day.  Among  these, 
certain  figures  gradually  became  typical,  and  thus  national  charac 
teristics  were,  in  reality,  fixed  in  humorous  form,  and  have  been  handed 
down,  composite  photographs,  as  it  were,  of  the  men  of  that  day  and 
nationality. 

The  name  John  Bull  appears  in  Dr.  Arbuthnot's  famous  tract, 
"The  History  of  John  Bull,"  published  in  1712,  and  it  was  used 
occasionally  as  a  legend  under  caricatures,  throughout  the  century, 
until  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  figure  and  name  were  fixed 
in  use  by  the  genius  of  two  or  three  great  cartoonists.  The  famous 
cartoonist  of  Irving 's  own  day,  in  England,  was  George  Cruikshank, 
who,  later,  illustrated  "The  Sketch-Book." 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

175  :  1.  The  mood  here  suggested  is  that  of  Goldsmith  in  "A 
Reverie  in  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap."  The  starting- 
point  of  the  adventurous  fancies  of  either  humorist  seems  the  same, 
and  the  words  of  one  remind  us  of  the  other.  Goldsmith  wrote, 
"Such  were  the  reflections  that  naturally  arose  while  I  sat  at  the 
Boar's  Head  Tavern,  still  kept  at  Eastcheap.  Here  by  a  pleasant 
fire,  in  the  very  room  where  old  Sir  John  Falstaff  cracked  his  jokes, 
in  the  very  chair  which  was  honored  by  Prince  Henry,  and  some 
times  polluted  by  his  immoral  merry  companions,  I  sat  and  rumi 
nated."  .  .  .  "Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn?"  is  quoted 
from  Falstaff,  "  Henry  IV,"  Part  I,  Act  iii,  Sc.  3, 1.  93. 

175  : 1.  In  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  220,  is  a  charming  ac 
count  of  a  later  visit  paid  by  Irving  to  the  Red  Horse  Inn ;  the  same 


404  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

landlady  who  had  entertained  him  at  the  time  of  the  visit  recorded  in 
"The  Sketch-Book"  was  there,  and  she  brought  forth  a  poker  on 
which  she  had  caused  to  be  engraved  the  words,  "Geoffrey  Crayon's 
Sceptre." 

176  :  2.    Garrick  and  the  Jubilee.     David  Garrick  made  his  d£but 
-in  "Richard  III.,"  in  1741,  and  from  that  time  to  his  death,  in  1779, 

he  was  the  most  distinguished  actor  of  Shakespearian  parts.  Sidney 
Lee  attributes  to  his  genius  and  ability  the  great  service  of  creating 
a  taste  for  Shakespeare  which  has  been  lasting.  The  Jubilee,  cele 
brated  for  three  days,  September  6-8,  1760,  at  Stratford,  was  under 
the  direction  of  Garrick,  Boswell,  and  Dr.  Arne.  Since  the  publi 
cation  of  "The  Sketch-Book"  other  Shakespeare  festivals  have  been 
held  at  Stratford. 

177  :  4.    Irving 's  phrase  is  misleading.     Shakespeare's  father  was 
a  man  of  large  affairs  for  his  day.     He  was  a  trader  in  all  manner  of 
agricultural  products;    he  owned  two  freehold  tenements  in  Strat 
ford,  and  he  held  many  offices  in  the  town,  some  of  them  important. 

183  :  17,  18.  Recent  biographers  of  Shakespeare  admit  that  he 
probably  poached  occasionally  on  the  preserves  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
but  there  is  little  evidence  of  the  authenticity  of  the  lines  attributed 
to  him  by  Irving.  The  use  of  Charlecote  as  the  seat  of  Justice  Shallow, 
and  the  satire  of  Lucy's  armorial  bearings  in  the  play,  indicate  that 
the  dramatist  had  an  old  score  of  some  sort  to  pay. 

Irving  suggested  to  Leslie  the  subject  of  Shakespeare  brought  up 
for  deer-stealing,  having  a  picture  in  his  own  mind,  which  the  artist 
after  repeated  efforts  could  not  bring  out.  In  September,  1821, 
artist  and  author  started  together  on  an  excursion  in  pursuit  of 
materials. —  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  397. 

The  scene  in  which  last  year's  pippins  were  served  is  in  "Henry 
IV,"  Part  II,  Act  v,  Sc.  3,  11. 1-9.  The  feast  of  pigeons  and  kickshaws 
is  in  "Henry  IV,"  Part  II,  Act  v,  Sc.  1. 

185  :  20,  note.  Sack.  A  kind  of  dry  sherry  wine.  Ruskin  says 
that  the  vineyard  of  Machanudo  (in  Spain),  which  his  father's  part 
ner  owned,  has,  by  the  quality  of  its  vintage,  fixed  the  standard  of 
"Xeres  Sack,"  or  dry  sherry,  from  the  days  of  Henry  V  to  the  present 
time. 

189  :  29.  The  form  of  Charlecote  Hall  is  supposed  by  some  writers 
to  have  been  designed  in  the  form  of  the  letter  E,  in  honor  of  Queen 
Elizabeth. 

190-195  :  30,  32,  35,  37.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  in  the  years  in 
which  Irving  wrote  "The  Sketch-Book,"  his  artist  friends,  Leslie 
and  Newton,  were  engaged  upon  Shakespearian  subjects.  Irving 
writes,  in  1818,  "Leslie  has  just  finished  a  very  beautiful  little  picture 
of  Anne  Page  inviting  Master  Slender  into  the  house.  .  .  .  Falstaff 
and  Shallow  are  seen  through  a  window  in  the  background." 

—  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  300. 


NOTES  405 

In  1819,  toward  the  end  of  the  year,  Irving  mentions  Newton's 
"little  fancy  piece  of  Falstaff  's  escape  in  the  buck-basket,"  as  a  piece 
of  great  merit.  Some  years  after  the  publication  of  "The  Sketch- 
Book,"  in  1829,  Leslie  was  engaged  upon  a  large  painting,  the  subject 
of  which  reminds  us,  in  turn,  of  Irving's  description,  —  "Falstaff 
regaling  at  the  table  of  Justice  Swallow." 

—  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  II,  p.  181. 

194:36.  The  quotation  is  from  "Henry  IV,"  Part  II,  Act  v, 
Sc.  3,  1.  37. 

ABBOTSFORD 

198  :  1.  "  Abbotsford"  was  written  in  1835,  nearly  twenty  years 
after  the  visit  occurred,  and  was  published  in  "Crayon  Miscellany," 
No.  2. 

198  :  2.    Consult   the   atlas   for   the   geography   of   the  country. 
The  whole  region  is  so  full  of  historical  and  literary  associations  that 
pains  should  be  taken  to  coordinate  with  the  story  of  Irving's  visit 
the  events,  persons,  and  literature  of  which   his  own   thought  was 
full  at  this  time.     Abundant  aid  for  those  interested  is  to  be  found 
in  ordinary  text-books  of  history,  of  literature,  and  in  guide  books, 
keys    to    characters   and   places  in   Scott's   writings,    etc.     Irving's 
experience  is  an  illustration  of  the  significance  and  delight  that  the 
traveller  who  is  well  read  finds  wherever  he  goes. 

199  :  4.    Abbotsford,  Scott's  home.    Scott's  residence  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tweed  was  in  the  beginning  determined  by  the  requirement 
that  sheriffs  must  reside  for  four  months  in  each  year  in  the  counties 
to  which  they  were  appointed.     He  had  received,  in  1799,  an  appoint 
ment  as  Deputy  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  an  office  in  which  the  duties 
were  light,  while  the  annual  salary  was  sufficient  to  free  him  from  the 
routine  practice  in  his  own  profession  of  the  law.       In  1804,  on  ac 
count  of  a  complaint  from  the  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Selkirkshire  that 
he  had  not  complied  with  the  requirement  of  his  position,  Scott  leased 
the  farm-house  and  farm  of  Ashestiel  on  the  Tweed.     In  1811,  the 
Clerks  of  Sessions,  by  a  reform  in  the  courts,  began  to  receive  a  fixed 
salary  of  £1300  a  year,  instead  of  fees.     This  brought  Scott,  who 
had  long  held  the  office  without  remuneration,  an  income  which  war 
ranted  the  purchase  of  a  farm  a  few  miles  distant  from  Ashestiel. 
The  place  held  a  special  interest  for  him  from  an  incident   in  his 
boyhood.     When  travelling  from  Selkirk  to  Melrose  with  his  father, 
the  old  man  had  suddenly  halted  the  carriage,  and  conducted  his  son 
to  a  hill  half  a  mile  above  the  Tweed  at  Abbotsford,  where  a  rude 
stone  marked  "  the  scene  of  the  last  great  clan-battle  of  the  Borders. " 

In  the  beginning,  the  farm  was  in  a  wretched  state  and  the  only 
buildings  were  small  and  poor.  It  had  been  called  Clarty  Hole 
from  a  filthy  duck-pond  in  the  foreground.  Scott,  however,  saw 
possibilities  in  the  site  and  set  to  work  with  his  usual  impetuous  en- 


406  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

thusiasm.  He  at  once  claimed  for  his  place  the  name  of  the  ford  used 
by  the  Abbots  of  the  proprietary  Abbey  of  Melrose,  and  erected  a 
comfortable  but  modest  cottag0.  a  picture  of  which  is  given  on  p.  201. 
In  succeeding  years  his  literary  su:-oesF  and  increasing  prosperity  sug 
gested  the  plan  of  the  more  stately  and  expensive  Abbotsford.  At 
the  time  of  Irving's  visit,  in  1817,  the  new  building  was  well  under 
way,  but  the  family  life  still  went  on  in  the  cottage  first  erected  by 
Scott.  The  story  is  told  in  Lockhart's  "Life  of  Scott,"  Vol.  Ill,  but 
is  mingled  with  the  narrative  of  other  things,  a  bit  here,  and  a  bit  there. 

200  :7.  Lockhart  says  that  Scott  had  received  "The  History  of 
New  York"  by  Knickerbocker  in  1812,  from  Mr.  Brevoort,  an  Ameri 
can  traveller,  whom  readers  of  Irving's  life  will  recognize. 

—  ."Life  of  Scott,"  Vol.  V,  p.  53. 

206 : 27.  Adam  Fergusson  (Lockhart's  spelling  of  the  name) 
was  son  of  the  celebrated  Professor  Fergusson,  and  Scott's  intimacy 
with  him  began  in  his  school  days.  Later  Fergusson  introduced  his 
friend  to  the  literary  circles  of  Edinburgh;  they  were  comrades  in 
the  speculative  society,  in  their  studies,  and  in  extended  excursions 
to  every  accessible  part  of  the  country. 

207  :  31.    A  Roman  road  ran  from  Eildon  Hills  down  to  the  ford. 
Eildon  stone,  Eildon  tree,  and  Huntley  bank  are  famous  in  "Border 
Minstrelsy."     Here  was  the  haunted  glen  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer. 
The  spot  was  a  favorite  one  with  Scott  and  Irving  recurs  to  it  in 
paragraphs  105,  107,  108,  and  149. 

Kipling  has  celebrated  the  "gates  o'  Faerie"  in  "The  Last  Rhyme 
of  True  Thomas." 

208  :  36.    Edie  Ochiltree.     See  paragraph  112,  note. 

209  :  37.    Ettrick.    The  valley  of  the  Ettrick  river  in  Selkirkshire. 
Ettrick   forest   was  formerly  a  royal  hunting  tract.     James  Hogg, 
the  poet,  mentioned  in  paragraph  153,  was  born  in  this  vale,  and  was 
sometimes  called  the  "Ettrick  shepherd." 

209  : 37.  Braes  of  Yarrow.  The  Yarrow  is  a  small  river  flowing 
into  the  Ettrick  before  its  junction,  near  Selkirk,  with  the  Tweed. 
Burns  uses  the  phrases  "Yarrow  braes"  and  "Ettrick  shaws"  in  a 
little  poem  to  the  "Braw  Lads  o'  Galla  Water." 

210:40.  "Cairn  gorm,"  from  the  name  of  a  mountain,  meaning 
blue  cairn,  between  the  shires  of  Aberdeen,  Banff,  and  Inverness : 
a  precious  stone  of  yellow  or  wine  color,  in  common  use  for  ornaments 
worn  with  Highland  costumes.  —  Oxford  Dictionary. 

218:60.  Mungo  Park  was  a  Scotsman,  a  native  of  Selkirkshire, 
and  born  in  the  same  year  as  Scott  himself.  He  was  famous  for  his 
travels  in  Africa  :  in  1805,  he  was  sent  in  command  of  a  military  ex 
pedition  to  explore  the  Niger  river,  and  after  descending  it  for  1500 
miles  he  was  killed,  with  the  small  remnant  of  his  party,  by  the 
natives. 

218  :  62.    Scott's  fondness  for  antiquarian  relics  is  illustrated  in 


NOTES  407 

the  picture  of  Scott  reading  in  his  library,  painted  by  Sir  W.  Allan 
in  1832;  see  p.  217.  This  painting  was  the  last  portrait  for  which 
Sir  Walter  Scott  sat.  The  following  note  by  the  painter  is  quoted 
from  the  Catalogue  of  the  Royal  Academy,  in  1832  :  — 

"The  still  life  of  the  picture  is  painted  from  the  original  in  Abbots- 
ford.  The  vase  was  the  gift  of  Lord  Byron.  The  keys,  hanging  by 
the  window,  are  those  of  the  Heart  of  Midlothian,  or  the  old  Tolbooth 
of  Edinburgh.  The  sword  suspended  from  the  bookcase  belonged  to 
Montrose;  and  the  rifle  surmounting  the  various  articles  hanging 
over  the  mantel-piece,  to  Spechbacker,  the  Tyrolese  patriot.  Near 
the  bookcase  are  hung  an  ancient  border  bugle,  James  the  Sixth's 
travelling  flask,  and  the  sporan,  or  purse,  of  Rob  Roy  McGregor. 
Behind  the  bust  of  Shakespeare  is  Rob  Roy's  long  gun,  above  which 
is  Claverhouse's  pistol,  and  below,  a  brace,  formerly  the  property  of 
Napoleon.  The  staghound  lying  at  Sir  Walter's  feet  is  Maida,  his 
old  favorite.  He  is  represented  as  seated  in  his  study,  reading  the 
proclamation  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  previous  to  her  marriage 
with  Lord  Darnley." 

228  :  97.  The  London  Magazine,  Vol.  I,  p.  11,  contains  an  article 
on  the  authorship  of  Scottish  novels,  and  many  others  may  be  found 
in  the  files  of  magazines  of  the  period. 

230  :  105.    See  note  for  paragraph  31,  p.  207. 

233  : 112.    See  paragraph  36. 

236  : 126,  130.  Sandy  Knowe.  Robert  Scott,  Sir  Walter's  grand 
father,  held  the  farm  of  Sandy  Knowe,  including  Smailholm  tower, 
by  lease.  The  old  shepherd  mentioned  in  paragraphs  129—130  was 
a  man  named  Hogg  who  had  loaned  all  his  savings  to  Robert  Scott 
to  purchase  stock  for  Sandy  Knowe.  The  story  of  how  the  money 
was  foolishly  spent  for  a  high  spirited  horse  is  told  in  Scott's  auto- 
biography. 

241  : 137.    The  most  interesting  account  of  Scott's  childhood  and 
youth  is  found  in  his  autobiography.     His  life  at  Sandy  Knowe, 
his  love  of  sport,  his  fondness  for  odd  characters,  especially  such  as 
could  tell  him  stories  of  olden  times,  or  of  feuds  and  border  warfare, 
are  all  narrated  in  his  own  words. 

242  : 140.    Dryburgh,  including  the  Abbey,  was  a  part  of  the  patri 
monial  estate  of  the  wife  of  Scott's  grandfather  and  would  have  de 
scended  to  Scott's  father  had  not  the  grand  uncle  in  whose  possession 
it  was  become  bankrupt  and  sold  it.     The  right  of  burial  in  the  resting- 
place  of  the  family  was,  however,  retained. 

244  : 149.    See  note  on  paragraph  31. 

252:172.  "The  Abbotsford  Family,"  was  painted  by  Sir  David 
Wilkie  in  1817,  for  Sir  Adam  Fergusson,  and  was  exhibited  in  1818. 
It  represents  Sir  Walter,  his  family,  Fergusson,  and  an  old  dependent 
masquerading  in  the  garb  of  South  country  peasants.  In  the  back 
ground  is  the  top  of  Cowden  Knowe,  and  the  Tweed  and  Melrose 


408  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

are  introduced  as  seen  from  a  hill  near  by.  Captain  Fergusson  and 
his  family  occupied  the  mansion  house  on  the  lands  of  Toftfield,  which 
Scott  had  recently  purchased  ;  the  intimacy  between  Scott  and  Adam 
Fergusson  began  when  both  were  schoolboys.  Wilkie,  the  artist, 
arrived,  as  Irving  narrates,  during  the  visit  described  in  "Abbots- 
ford."  See  picture  on  p.  255. 

254:174.  Scott's  conversational  gifts.  See  Lockhart's  "Life  of 
Scott,"  Vol.  II,  p.  317,  for  a  memorandum  of  another  of  Scott's 
visitors,  touching  on  several  points  in  Irving's  essay. 

254 : 176.  Jeffrey.  Francis  Jeffrey  with  Sidney  Smith  and 
Henry  Brougham,  in  1802,  founded  the  Edinburgh  Review.  In  1803 
Jeffrey  became  editor  and  in  that  capacity  conducted  the  Review 
until  1820.  This  Review  became  a  power  through  the  brilliancy  of 
the  articles  appearing  in  it  and  the  fearless  attitude  of  the  editors 
toward  all  kinds  of  abuses  and  incompetence.  It  was  especially 
severe  in  criticising  the  work  of  young  authors,  One  of  the  founders 
wrote  the  scathing  review  of  Byron's  "Hours  of  Idleness,"  which 
so  angered  him  that  he  wrote  "English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 
in  reply. 

RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

For  an  account  of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  Irving 's  alter  ego,  see 
the  preface  of  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York."  Once  he 
had  created  the  old  Dutch  historian,  Irving  became  so  fond  of  him 
that  he  could  not  lay  aside  the  fancy;  Diedrich  appears  in  "Tales 
of  a  Traveller,"  and  in  more  than  one  of  the  papers  of  "Wolfert's 
Roost."  Irving's  account  of  how  he  revisited  Sleepy  Hollow  with  the 
historian  is  especially  entertaining. 

The  dramatization  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  For  an  account  of  the  dra 
matization  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  see  Chs.  viii  and  xvi,  in  Jefferson's 
"Autobiography,"  and  the  introduction  to  "Rip  Van  Winkle  as 
played  by  Joseph  Jefferson."  The  impersonation  of  Joseph  Jefferson 
has  displaced  all  earlier  interpretations  of  the  character  of  Rip,  and 
even  in  subordinate  parts  characters  and  scenes  have  been  derived 
from  the  play. 

A  most  interesting  contrast  may  be  discovered  by  comparing 
Murray's  illustrations  of  "The  Sketch-Book,"  in  early  editions,  pub 
lished  in  London  and  the  drawings  of  artists  in  this  country,  done 
before  the  dramatization  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  with  the  pictures  of 
characters  or  scenes  commonly  published  at  the  present  time.  The 
termagant  wife,  altogether  unlovely,  has  given  place  to  a  younger, 
more  comely  woman,  much  tried,  who  may,  on  a  pinch,  command 
our  sympathy.  She,  moreover,  betrays  a  weakness  for  her  vagrant 
husband,  and  survives,  by  the  law  of  dramatic  necessity,  to  welcome 
him  back.  So  lovable  and  so  real  has  been  this  Rip  of  Jefferson's 
creation  that  both  artists  and  readers  accept  him  as  the  original, 
veritable  Rip  of  Irving's  imagination. 


NOTES  409 

267  : 1.  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last  director-general  of  the 
New  Netherlands,  and  in  1664  surrendered  that  colony  to  the  Eng 
lish.  Irving's  humorous  description  of  the  Dutch  governor  and  his 
exploits,  including  the  famous  expedition  to  capture  Fort  Christina, 
will  be  found  in  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York,"  Vol.  V, 
Ch.  viii.  The  historical  Stuyvesant  may  be  found  in  any  good  his 
tory  of  the  colonial  period. 

274:17.  The  dress  of  "antique  Dutch  fashion"  is  described  in 
"Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York,"  Vol.  II,  Ch.  ii,  last 
paragraph. 

276  : 21.  Fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  In  the  legendary  history  of  past 
ages  are  many  stories  of  sleepers,  and  in  all  nations  loved  heroes  at 
their  death  have  left  behind,  in  tradition,  the  prophecy  of  a  return 
after  many  years.  The  story  of  the  twenty  years'  sleep  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle  is  an  Americanized  version,  suggested  probably  by  old  Ger 
man  legends  of  the  Hartz  mountains,  in  one  of  which  it  is  narrated 
that  Peter  Klaus,  a  goatherd  from  Sittendorf,  met  a  party  of  knights 
playing  at  skittles  in  a  dell  of  these  mountains,  and  drank  a  miraculous 
draught  of  wine  which  put  him  to  sleep  for  twenty  years.  The  magic 
drinking  potion  played  a  great  r61e  in  the  days  of  the  old  romance, 
and  a  hundred  uses  of  it  lie  ready  in  the  fertile  brain  of  any  writer  who 
is  well  versed  in  mediaeval  literature. 

But,  in  truth,  the  real  source  of  the  legend  of  the  Catskills  lies  in 
the  romantic  brooding  fancies  of  an  imaginative  boy  who  idled  on 
the  deck  of  the  slow-going  boats  as  they  travelled  up  the  Hudson, 
and  pleased  himself  with  weaving  into  the  beauty  and  mystery 
of  the  mountains  the  tales  that  had  charmed  him ;  they  grew,  thus, 
to  the  reality  of  vision,  and  in  his  memory  scenes  and  fancies  mingled 
inextricably.  In  after  years,  the  form  of  the  legend,  from  whatever 
old  tales  he  borrowed  it,  was  little  more  than  a  means  through  which 
his  roving  fancy  found  an  expression  holding  for  us  all  the  vitality 
of  real  experience  because,  once,  in  his  golden  days,  it  was  real  to  the 
one  who  wrote  of  it. 

280  : 32.  Federal  or  Democrat.  The  parties  referred  to  are  those 
of  Washington's  and  Adams's  administrations.  The  rise  of  the  Demo 
cratic  party  as  known  to  us  was  in  a  later  period.  See  school  his 
tories  of  the  United  States  for  a  definition  of  these  parties  and  of 
their  principles  at  the  time  of  Rip's  return. 

284  : 44.  It  seems  probable  that  the  name  of  Henry  Hudson's 
ship,  the  Half-Moon,  was  derived  from  a  sign  in  frequent  use  in  his 
day,  in  London.  In  the  uncancelled  scores  of  the  ale-wives,  the 
Half-Moon  stood  for  sixpence.  In  a  seventeenth-century  song  we 
read  of  the  ale-wife  who 

"  Writes  at  night  and  at  noon 
For  tester  half  a  moon ; 
And  great  round  O  for  a  shilling." 


410  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

An  inn,  much  frequented  by  sailors,  bore  the  name  and  displayed  the 
sign,  a  wooden  crescent  gilt.  As  the  Dutch  eel  boats  habitually 
moored  off  Billingsgate,  near  which  the  Half-Moon  tavern  stood,  it 
seems  probable  that  the  sign  was  familiar  to  those  who  came  and 
went  on  the  water  for  many  years  before  the  Half-Moon  sailed  with 
an  English  master  and  a  Dutch  crew  in  search  of  the  northwest 
passage  to  the  Indies. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW 

Preliminary  Note.  The  story  of  the  writing  of  the  "Legend  of 
Sleepy  Hollow"  is  in  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  I,  p.  346.  Irving's 
description  of  old  Tarrytown  is  in  "Life  and  Letters,"  Vol.  II,  p.  369. 

296  : 1.  See  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York,"  for  Irving's 
account  of  how  St.  Nicholas  became  patron  saint  of  the  burghers  who 
settled  Manhattoes  and  the  adjoining  country. 

297:3.  Shakespeare's  phrase  is  "the  night-mare  and  her  nine 
fold,"  "King  Lear,"  Act  iii,  Sc.  4,  1.  126. 

298:4.  The  legend  of  the  "Wild  Huntsman"  is  very  old,  and 
appears  in  many  forms.  In  pagan  times  the  wild  huntsman  was 
Woden  himself.  Later,  in  the  Hartz  mountains,  the  Wild  Huntsman 
and  the  Wandering  Jew  were  regarded  as  the  same.  —  "Legends  and 
Tales  of  the  Hartz  Mountains,"  p.  120,  by  Toofie  Lauder. 

299  :8-ll.  In  McMaster's  "History  of  the  People  of  the  United 
States,"  Vol  I,  p.  21,  is  a  brief  account  of  schools  and  schoolmasters 
in  early  times. 

314 : 34.  The  description  of  Ichabod  mounted  on  his  steed 
suggests  remotely  Don  Quixote  and  his  Rosinante. 

319  :47.  For  some  of  the  myths  and  legends  associated  with  this 
region  see  "Chronicles  of  Tarrytown,"  pp.  97-151. 

319  :  49.  John  Paulding  was  leader  of  the  band  that  captured 
Major  Andre",  and  Isaac  Van  Wart  was  one  of  the  company.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  one  of  Irving's  sisters  married  Henry  Van  Wart, 
and  that  his  brother  William  married  a  sister  of  James  K.  Paulding, 
who  afterwards  was  one  of  the  authors  of  the  "Salmagundi  Papers  " 
and  Irving's  intimate  friend.  The  stoiies  of  Andrews  capture  must 
therefore  have  been  a  local  tradition  handed  down  in  the  family, 
and  the  spot,  familiar  in  boyhood,  had  long  been  associated  in  his 
mind  with  romantic  tales. 

323:57.    Major  Andrews  tree, — see  note  on  paragraph  49. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

References  for  the  Study  of  The  Sketch-Book 
BOOKS    WHICH    SHOULD    BE    OWNED 

The  Sketch-Book. 

A  good  map  of  England  and  Scotland. 

Some  Life  of  Irving. 

BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE  FOR  THE  LIBRARY 

a.    Irving' s  life  and  work:  — 

Life  and  Letters  of  Washington  Irving,  by  Pierre  M. 

Irving,  Putnam. 
Washington  Irving,  by  C.  D.  Warner,  in  American  Men 

of  Letters  Series. 

Washington  Irving,  by  Henry  W.  Boynton,  Boston. 
Studies  of  Irving,  by  C.  D.  Warner,  Putnam,  1880. 
Washington  Irving,  by  D.  J.  Hill,  American  Authors 

Series. 

Washington  Irving,  by  E.  W.  Morse,  Warner's  Classics. 
Washington  Irving,  in  Wendell's  Literary  History  of 

America,  Book  IV,  Ch.  ii. 

Washington  Irving,  by  Richard  Garnett,  in  Encyclo 
paedia  Britannica,  Vol.  XIII. 
Washington  Irving' s  Services  to  American  History,  in 

Literary  Likings,  by  Richard  Burton. 
Nil  Nisi  Bonum,  by  W.  M.  Thackeray,  in  the  Cornhill 

Magazine,   Feb.,    1860;     reprinted    in    Roundabout 

Papers. 
American  Literature,  by  C.    F.  Richardson,   Ch.  vii, 

Putnam. 
The  Work  of  Washington  Irving,  by  C.  D.  Warner,  in 

Harper's  Black  and  White  Series. 
6.  For  use  with  the  Essays  of  the  Sketch-Book :  — 

Chronicles  of  Tarry  town  and  Sleepy  Hollow,  by  E.  M. 

Bacon;   illus.,  1897,  New  York,  Putnam. 
Homes  and  Haunts  of  Scott,  by  George  S.   Napier; 

Glasgow,  James  Maclehouse  and  Sons,  1897. 
Shakespeare's  London,  by  H.  T.  Stephenson;  1905,  New 

York,  Holt  and  Company. 
Shakespeare's  London,  by  William  Winter;   1899,  New 

York,  The  Macmillan  Company. 
London  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  by  Walter  Besant; 

1902,  New  York,  Harpers. 
411 


412  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 

Shakespeare  s  Town  and  Times,  by  H.  S.  and  C.  W. 
Ward;  London,  Dawbarn  and  Ward. 

The  Thackeray  Country,  by  Lewis  Melville;  1905,  Lon 
don,  A.  and  C.  Black;  New-  York,  The  Macmillan 
Company. 

Charterhouse,  by  A.  H.  Tod  ;  Handbooks  to  Great 
Public  Schools,  1900,  London,  G.  Bell  and  Sons. 

Old  London  Taverns,  by  Edward  Callow;  1899,  Lon 
don,  Downey  and  Company. 

Lord  Mayor's  Pageants,  by  F.  W.  Fairholt;  1893, printed 
for  the  Percy  Society,  London. 

Stfatford-on-Avon,  Guide  Book;  by  Harold  Baker, 
Bell  and  Sons. 

Popular  Antiquities,  by  John  Brand;    Christmas  and 
Twelfth  Night  Customs,  pp.  241-283.     An  invaluable 
book  in  the  school  library,  of  which  a  new  and  cheap 
edition  has  recently  been  published. 
c.   Dramatization  of  Rip  Van  Winkle:  — 

Rip  Van  Winkle, as  played  by  Joseph  Jefferson;  1896, 
New  York,  Dodd,  Mead  and  Company. 

How  I  Came  to  Play  Rip  Van  Winkle,  Ch.  viii,  pp. 
225-229,  in  Autobiography  of  Joseph  Jefferson;  1890, 
New  York,  The  Century  Company. 

The  New  Rip  Van  Winkle;  in  Ch.  xi,  pp.  302-310,  ibid. 

Life  and  Art  of  Joseph  Jefferson,  by  William  Winter, 
Chap.  VII ;  1894,  New  York,  The  Macmillan  Company. 

How  I  Came  to  Play  Rip  Van  Winkle,  The  Acting  of 
Rip  Van  Winkle,  and  Rip  Van  Winkle  in  Catskill, 
New  York.  Autobiography  of  Joseph  Jefferson,  Ch. 
viii,  225-229;  Ch.  xvi,  452-463;  1890,  The  Century 
Company,  New  York. 

BOOKS  CONTAINING  PLANS,  ILLUSTRATIONS,  AND    DESCRIPTIONS 

OF  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,  WESTMINSTER  SCHOOL,  ETC. 

o.   For  the  school  library :  — 

Abbey  and  Church  of  Westminster,  by  Charles  Hiatt; 
Bell's  Cathedral  Series,  London. 

Westminster  Abbey,  by  G.  E.  Troutbeck;  Methuen  and 
Company,  London;  Boston,  L.  C.  Page  and  Company. 

Westminster,  by  R.  Airy ;  Handbooks  to  Great  Public 
Schools,  London,  1902,  G.  Bell  and  Sons. 

Roll  Call  of  Westminster  Abbey,  by  E.  T.  Bradley; 
London,  1902,  Smith  and  Elder.  Contains  pictures 
of  Monuments,  Tombs,  etc.,  with  interesting  de 
scriptions. 

The  Deanery  Guide  to  Westminster  Abbey,  12th  ed.; 
London,  1900,  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  413 

6.    For  consultation  in  libraries,  for  illustrations:  — 

The    History   of   the   Abbey   Church   of   St.    Peter's, 

Westminster,  its  Antiquities  and  Monuments,  2  vols., 

London,  R.  Ackermann.     (It  is  possible  to  follow  the 

walls  of  the  abbey  entirely  around,  by  illustrations 

given  in  this  volume.     The  illustrations  are  fine, 

especially  of  the  Poets'  Corner,  etc.) 
Seventy-one  Views  of  Westminster  Abbey,  mounted 

in  a  portfolio;    photographed  by  S.  B.  Bolas  and 

Company,  London. 
Westminster  Abbey,  by  W.  J.  Loftie;    illus.,  London, 

1890,  and  1891,  Seeley  and  Company. 
The  Abbey  and   Palace  of  Westminster;   a  book  of 

views  photographed  by  John  Harrington,  Sampson 

Low,  Son,  and  Marston,  London. 
Westminster,  by   Sir  Walter  Besant,   London,    1895, 

Chatto  and  Windus. 
The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  Abbey  Church  of 

St.  Peter's,  Westminster,  by  E.  W.  Brayley,  London, 

1818-23. 
Westminster  Abbey.     Historical  Description,  etc.,  by 

H.  J.  Feasey;  London,  1899,  Bell  and  Sons. 
Historical  Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey,  by  A.  P. 

Stanley,  London. 
Gleanings   from  Westminster  Abbey,   George  Gilbert 

Scott,  Parker,  Oxford  and  London,  1863. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  IRVING' s  WRITINGS  FOR  USE  AS  SUPPLE 
MENTARY  READING  WITH  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

In  Tales  of  a  Traveller:  — 

The  Money  Diggers.  . 

Kidd,  the  Pirate. 
In  Bracebridge  Hall :  — 

The  Hall. 

Annette  Delabre. 

The  Stout  Gentleman. 

The  Storm  Ship. 

Dolph  Heyliger. 

May  Day  Customs. 

May  Day. 
In  Knickerbocker' s  History  of  New  York :  — 

Expedition  against  Fort  Christina. 

Sketch  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller. 
In  Crayon  Miscellany:  — 

Newstead  Abbey,  especially  the  chapter,  Plough   Monday, 
and  The  Little  White  Lady. 


414  THE   SKETCH-BOOK 


In  Wolf  erf  s  Roost: — 

Wolfert  s  Roost. 

The  Story  of  Mountjoy,  or  Some  Passages  out  of  the  Life  of  a 
Castle  Builder. 

The  Bermudas,  a  Shakespearian  Research. 

The  Early  Experiences  of  Ralph  Ringwood. 

The  Englishman  at  Paris          \  •     Sketrhps  from  Paric, 

English  and  French  Character  / ir  rans< 

The  Birds  of  Spring. 
In  Biographies  and  Miscellanies :  — 

Sleepy  Hollow,  p.  425. 

The  Catskill  Mountains,  p.  480. 
In  Life  and  Letters :  — • 

Visits  at  Barborough  Hall,  Vol.  II,  pp.  216  and  219. 

Visit  at  Abbotsford,  Vol.  I,  Ch.  xxi. 
Magazine  Articles:  — 

A  few  references  to  essays  and  critical  reviews  of  The  Sketch- 
Book,  or  of  the  style  and  characteristics  of  Washington 
Irving. 

North  American  Review,  Vol.  IX,  p.  322;  Review  by  R.  H. 
Dana. 

Blackwood's  Edinburgh  Magazine,  1820,  Vol.  VI,  p.  566. 
Review  of  No.  III.,  of  The  Sketch-Book,  Vol.  VII,  p.  366. 
Review  of  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York. 

Quarterly  Review,  1821,  Vol.  XXV,  p.  50;  Review  of  The 
Sketch-Book. 

Harper's  New  Magazine,  Vol.  XX,  March,  1860,  p.  542. 
Reprint  of  Thackeray's  "Nil  Nisi  Bonum." 

Harper's  New  Magazine,  Vol.  IV,  April,  1876,  "The  Romance 
of  the  Hudson,"  illus. 

Harper's  New  Magazine,  Vol.  XXIV,  Feb.,  1862,  pp.  349- 
356.  Washington  Irving,  by  James  Wynne. 

Harper's  New  Magazine,  April,  1883.  Frontis.  portrait  by 
Stuart  Newton;  owned  by  Murray. 

The  New  England  Magazine,  Vol.  XXIII,  p.  449;  The  Coun 
try  of  Washington  Irving,  by  H.  E.  Miller. 

The  Critic,  Vol.  Ill,  March  31,  1883;  The  Irving  Number. 

The  Critic,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  140,  1883;    Review  by  E.  W.  Gosse. 

KEY  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  "WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,"  IN  SINGLE 
BOOKS,  USUALLY  FOUND  IN  LARGE  LIBRARIES 

By  following  the  order  of  the  numbers  for  pages  or  plates  the  illus 
trations  in  each  book  will  fall  into  consecutive  order,  with  reference 
to  Irving's  progress;  that  is,  with  reference  to  the  building  itself, 
In  the  use  of  these  illustrations  the  plan  of  the  Abbey  and  its  enclo 
sure  on  p.  379  will  be  of  great  use.  Several  of  the  books  and  portfolios 
can  be  found  only  in  large  libraries;  others  may  be  added  to  tht 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  415 

library  of  any  high  school.  In  many  states,  sets  of  books  or  pictures 
may  be  obtained  for  illustrating  "  Westminster  Abbey  "  from  the  Trav 
elling  Libraries.  Guide  books  may  be  obtained  and  cut  up  to  fur 
nish  pictures  for  mounting. 

"Westminster  Abbey,"  by  W.  J.  Loftie,  Seeley  and  Company, 
London. 

I.  Outer  Circuit :  pages  5,  9,  49,  95,  77,  61,  57,  13,  43,  29,  21,  227, 
311. 

II.  Entering  from  the  Little  Dean's  yard :  pages  301,  32,  38,  41, 
205,  202,  199,  207,  308,  305,  17,  251,  83,  167,  255,  211,  88,  293,  171, 
163, 193,  279,  191,  313,  159,  [212,  223,  233,  231].    Chapel  St.  Edmund. 
Frontispiece  (see  also  113),  220,  265,  Henry  VII 's  Chapel,  entrance, 
265.     Interior:    pages  129,   151,   137,  133,   141,   145,   148,  155,  149, 
261,  273.     Pages  116,  175,  179,  243,  239  (The  Nightingale  monument 
of  Irving's  description),  247,  105,  217,  101,  122,  119,  109,  113,  91, 
[116,  88]. 

Portfolio,  71  Views  of  Westminster  Abbey,  Photographs  by  S.  B.  Bolas 
and   Company.     Reprinted    from    the    Architect    and    Contract 

Reporter. 

Outside :  plates  58,  59,  27,  [21,  69],  22,  4,  15,  32,  51,  48,  50,  33, 
36,  37,  25,  47,  44,  24,  45,  68,  61,  7,  [10,  18]. 

Inside  :  (Numbers  bracketted  are  details,  and  may  be  omitted)  ; 
plates  17,  [41],  1,  [49,  also  20],  [46],  [9,  5,  3,  52,  also  8],  6,  [14],  8,  13 
(Poets'  Corner),  2,  11,  34,  28,  43,  26,  [16],  38,  [19,  30].  Inside  gates 
of  Henry  VII 's  Chapel,  pages  31,  65,  64,  67,  [53,  56,  57],  60,  [62,  63, 
70],  66,  [12,  35]. 

Pages  29  (exterior  chapel  of  St.  John  Baptist,  interior  in  35),  23, 
20  (also  23,  and  12),  [71],  40,  55,  39,  42,  54. 
The  Abbey  and  Palace  of  Westminster,  Photographs  by  Harrington, 

Sampson  Low,  Son,  and  Marston. 

Exterior  :  plates  i,  v,  ii,  iii,  vi,  iv. 

Interior  :  plates  vii,  viii,  ix  (pulpit  in  vii),  x,  xi,  xii,  xiii,  xiv,  xvi. 
Chapel  Henry  VII,  plates  xxi-xxv,  xvii,  xviii,  xx,  xix. 

In  palace  section,  xv.     College  garden. 
Abbey  and  Church  of  Westminster,  Bell's  Cathedral  Series,  by  Charles 

Hiatt. 

Pages  3  (Bayeux  tapestry,  Abbey  from  north),  16,  14,  22,  25,  2, 
17,  [124].  Frontispiece;  pages  29,  7,  114,  118,  117,  119,  121,  115, 
126,  122,  123  (plan  of  Abbey),  112  (plan  of  Convent  buildings). 

Interior:  pages  32,  56,  59,  61,  43,  48,  51,  71,  79,  96,  97,  100,  101, 
104,  105,  107,  69,  84,  68,  66,  73,  75,  76,  89,  92. 


IRVING'S  APPENDIX 

NOTES   CONCERNING  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

TOWARD  the  end  of  the  sixth  century,  when  Britain,  under  the 
dominion  of  the  Saxons,  was  in  a  state  of  barbarism  and  idolatry, 
Pope  Gregory  the  Great,  struck  with  the  beauty  of  some  Anglo-Saxon 
youths  exposed  for  sale  in  the  market-place  at  Rome,  conceived  a 
fancy  for  the  race,  and  determined  to  send  missionaries  to  preach  the 
gospel  among  these  comely  but  benighted  islanders.  He  was  en 
couraged  to  this  by  learning  that  Ethelbert,  king  of  Kent,  and  the 
most  potent  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  princes,  had  married  Bertha,  a 
Christian  princess,  only  daughter  of  the  king  of  Paris,  and  that  she 
was  allowed  by  stipulation  the  full  exercise  of  her  religion. 

The  shrewd  Pontiff  knew  the  influence  of  the  sex  in  matters  of  reli 
gious  faith.  He  forthwith  despatched  Augustine,  a  Roman  monk, 
with  forty  associates,  to  the  court  of  Ethelbert  at  Canterbury,  to  effect 
the  conversion  of  the  king  and  to  obtain  through  him  a  foothold  in  the 
island. 

Ethelbert  received  them  warily,  and  held  a  conference  in  the  open 
air ;  being  distrustful  of  foreign  priestcraft,  and  fearful  of  spells  and 
magic.  They  ultimately  succeeded  in  making  him  as  good  a  Chris^ 
tian  as  his  wife ;  the  conversion  of  the  king  of  course  produced  the 
conversion  of  his  loyal  subjects.  The  zeal  and  success  of  Augustine 
were  rewarded  by  his  being  made  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  be 
ing  endowed  with  authority  over  all  the  British  churches. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  converts  was  Segebert  of  Sebert,  king 
of  the  East  Saxons,  a  nephew  of  Ethelbert.  He  reigned  at  London, 
of  which  Mellitus,  one  of  the  Roman  monks  who  had  come  over  with 
Augustine,  was  made  bishop. 

Sebert,  in  605,  in  his  religious  zeal,  founded  a  monastery  by  the 
river-side  to  the  west  of  the  city,  on  the  ruins  of  a  temple  of  Apollo, 
being,  in  fact,  the  origin  of  the  present  pile  of  Westminster  Abbey. 
Great  preparations  were  made  for  the  consecration  of  the  church, 
which  was  to  be  dedicated  to  St.  Peter.  On  the  morning  of  the  ap 
pointed  day  Mellitus,  the  bishop,  proceeded  with  great  pomp  and 
solemnity  to  perform  the  ceremony.  On  approaching  the  edifice  he 
was  met  by  a  fisherman,  who  informed  him  that  it  was  needless  to 
proceed,  as  the  ceremony  was  over.  The  bishop  stared  with  sur 
prise,  when  the  fisherman  went  on  to  relate,  that  the  night  before, 
as  he  was  in  his  boat  on  the  Thames,  St.  Peter  appeared  to  him,  and 
told  him  that  he  intended  to  consecrate  the  church  himself,  that  very 
night.  The  apostle  accordingly  went  into  the  church,  which  sud 
denly  became  illuminated.  The  ceremony  was  performed  in  sumptu 
ous  style,  accompanied  by  strains  of  heavenly  music  and  clouds  of 
fragrant  incense.  After  this,  the  apostle  came  into  the  boat  and 
ordered  the  fisherman  to  cast  his  net.  He  did  so,  and  had  a  miracu 
lous  draught  of  fishes;  one  of  which  he  was  commanded  to  present 

416 


APPENDIX  417 

to  the  bishop,  and  to  signify  to  him  that  the  apostle  had  relieved  him 
from  the  necessity  of  consecrating  the  church. 

Mellitus  was  a  wary  man,  slow  of  belief,  and  required  confirmation 
of  the  fisherman's  tale.  He  opened  the  church-doors,  and  beheld 
wax  candles,  crosses,  holy  water ;  oil  sprinkled  in  various  places, 
and  various  other  traces  of  a  grand  ceremonial.  If  he  had  still  any 
lingering  doubts,  they  were  completely  removed  on  the  fisherman's 
producing  the  identical  fish  which  he  had  been  ordered  by  the  apostle 
to  present  to  him.  To  resist  this  would  have  been  to  resist  ocular 
demonstration.  The  good  bishop  accordingly  was  convinced  that  the 
church  had  actually  been  consecrated  by  St.  Peter  in  person ;  so  he 
reverently  abstained  from  proceeding  further  in  the  business. 

The  foregoing  tradition  is  said  to  be  the  reason  why  King  Edward 
the  Confessor  chose  this  place  as  the  site  of  a  religious  house  which  he 
meant  to  endow.  He  pulled  down  the  old  church  and  built  another 
in  its  place  in  1045.  In  this  his  remains  were  deposited  in  a  magnifi 
cent  shrine. 

The  sacred  edifice  again  underwent  modifications,  if  not  a  recon 
struction,  by  Henry  III,  in  1220,  and  began  to  assume  its  present 
appearance. 

Under  Henry  VIII  it  lost  its  conventual  character,  that  monarch 
turning  the  monks  away,  and  seizing  upon  the  revenues. 


RELICS   OF  EDWARD  THE   CONFESSOR 

A  curious  narrative  was  printed  in  1688,  by  one  of  the  choristers 
of  the  cathedral,  who  appears  to  have  been  the  Paul  Pry  of  the  sacred 
edifice,  giving  an  account  of  his  rummaging  among  the  bones  of 
Edward  the  Confessor,  after  they  had  quietly  reposed  in  their  sepul 
chre  upwards  of  six  hundred  years,  and  of  his  drawing  forth  the 
crucifix  and  golden  chain  of  the  deceased  monarch.  During  eighteen 
years  that  he  had  officiated  in  the  choir,  it  had  been  a  common  tra 
dition,  he  says,  among  his  brother  choristers  and  the  gray-headed 
servants  of  the  abbey,  that  the  body  of  King  Edward  was  deposited 
in  a  kind  of  chest  or  coffin,  which  was  indistinctly  seen  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  shrine  erected  to  his  memory.  None  of  the  abbey  gossips, 
however,  had  ventured  upon  a  nearer  inspection,  until  the  worthy 
narrator,  to  gratify  his  curiosity,  mounted  to  the  coffin  by  the  aid  of 
a  ladder,  and  found  it  to  be  made  of  wood,  apparently  very  strong 
and  firm,  being  secured  by  bands  of  iron. 

Subsequently,  in  1685,  on  taking  down  the  scaffolding  used  in  the 
coronation  of  James  II,  the  coffin  was  found  to  be  broken,  a  hole 
appearing  in  the  lid,  probably  made,  through  accident,  by  the 
workmen.  No  one  ventured,  however,  to  meddle  with  the  sacred 
depository  of  royal  dust,  until,  several  weeks  afterwards,  the  circum 
stance  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  aforesaid  chorister.  He  forth 
with  repaired  to  the  abbey  in  company  with  two  friends,  of  congenial 
tastes,  who  were  desirous  of  inspecting  the  tombs.  Procuring  a  lad 
der,  he  again  mounted  to  the  coffin,  and  found,  as  had  been  repre 
sented,  a  hole  in  the  lid  about  six  inches  long  and  four  inches  broad, 
just  in  front  of  the  left  breast.  Thrusting  in  his  hand,  and  groping 
among  the  bones,  he  drew  from  underneath  the  shoulder  a  crucifix, 
richly  adorned  and  enamelled,  affixed  to  a  gold  chain  twenty-four 


418  THE  SKETCH-BOOK 

inches  long.  These  he  showed  to  his  inquisitive  friends,  who  were 
equally  surprised  with  himself. 

"At  the  time,"  says  he,  "when  I  took  the  cross  and  chain  out  of  the 
coffin,  /  drew  the  head  to  the  hole  and  viewed  it,  being  very  sound  and 
firm,  with  the  upper  and  nether  jaws  whole  and  full  of  teeth,  and  a 
list  of  gold  above  an  inch  broad,  in  the  nature  of  a  coronet,  surround 
ing  the  temples.  There  was  also  in  the  coffin,  white  linen  and  gold- 
colored  flowered  silk,  that  looked  indifferent  fresh  ;  but  the  least  stress 
put  thereto  showed  it  was  wellnigh  perished.  There  were  all  his 
bones,  and  much  dust  likewise,  which  I  left  as  I  found." 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  grotesque  lesson  to  human  pride 
than  the  skull  of  Edward  the  Confessor  thus  irreverently  pulled  about 
in  its  coffin  by  a  prying  chorister,  and  brought  to  grin  face  to  face 
with  him  through  a  hole  in  the  lid  ! 

Having  satisfied  his  curiosity,  the  chorister  put  the  crucifix  and 
chain  back  again  into  the  coffin,  and  sought  the  dean,  to  apprise  him 
of  his  discovery.  The  dean  not  being  accessible  at  the  time,  and 
fearing  that  the  "holy  treasure"  might  be  taken  away  by  other  hands, 
he  got  a  brother  chorister  to  accompany  him  to  the  shrine  about  two 
or  three  hours  afterwards,  and  in  his  presence  again  drew  forth  the 
relics.  These  he  afterwards  delivered  on  his  knees  to  King  James. 
The  king  subsequently  had  the  old  coffin  inclosed  in  a  new  one  of 
great  strength:  "each  plank  being  two  inches  thick  and  cramped 
together  with  large  iron  wedges,  where  it  now  remains  (1688)  as  a 
testimony  of  his  pious  care,  that  no  abuse  might  be  offered  to  the 
sacred  ashes  therein  deposited." 

As  the  history  of  this  shrine  is  full  of  moral,  I  subjoin  a  description 
of  it  in  modern  times.  "The  solitary  and  forlorn  shrine,"  says  a 
British  writer,  "now  stands  a  mere  skeleton  of  what  it  was.  A  few 
faint  traces  of  its  sparkling  decorations  inlaid  on  solid  mortar  catches 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  forever  set  on  its  splendor.  .  .  .  Only  two  of 
the  spiral  pillars  remain.  The  wooden  Ionic  top  is  much  broken,  and 
covered  with  dust.  The  mosaic  is  picked  away  in  every  part  within 
reach,  only  the  lozenges  of  about  a  foot  square  and  five  circular  pieces 
of  the  rich  marble  remain."  —  Malcom,  Lond.  rediv. 

INSCRIPTION   ON   A   MONUMENT   ALLUDED   TO    IN   THE 
SKETCH 

Here  lyes  the  Loyal  Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  his  Duchess  his  second 
wife,  by  whom  he  had  no  issue.  Her  name  was  Margaret  Lucas, 
youngest  sister  to  the  Lord  Lucas  of  Colchester,  a  noble  family ;  for 
all  the  brothers  were  valiant,  and  all  the  sisters  virtuous.  This  Duch 
ess  was  a  wise,  witty,  and  learned  lady,  which  her  many  Bookes  do 
well  testify :  she  was  a  most  virtuous,  and  loving  and  careful  wife, 
and  was  with  her  lord  all  the  time  of  his  banishment  and  miseries, 
and  when  he  came  home,  never  parted  from  him  in  his  solitary  retire 
ments. 


In  the  winter  time,  when  the  days  are  short,  the  service  in  the  after 
noon  is  performed  by  the  light  of  tapers.  The  effect  is  fine  of  the 
choir  partially  lighted  up,  while  the  main  body  of  the  cathedral  and 


APPENDIX  419 

the  transepts  are  in  profound  and  cavernous  darkness.  The  white 
dresses  of  the  choristers  gleam  amidst  the  deep  brown  of  ^he  open  slats 
and  canopies ;  the  partial  illumination  makes  enormous  shadows 
from  columns  and  screens,  and  darting  into  the  surrounding  gloom, 
catches  here  and  there  upon  a  sepulchral  decoration,  or  monumental 
effigy.  The  swelling  notes  of  the  or^an  accord  well  with  the  scene. 
When  the  service  is  over  the  dean  is  lighted  to  his  dwelling,  in  the 
old  conventual  part  of  the  pile,  by  the  boys  of  the  choir,  in  their  white 
dresses,  bearing  tapers,  and  the  procession  passes  through  the  abbey 
and  along  the  shadowy  cloisters,  lighting  up  angles  and  arches  and 
grim  sepulchral  monuments,  and  leaving  all  behind  in  darkness. 


On  entering  the  cloisters  at  night  from  what  is  called  the  Dean's 
Yard,  the  eye  ranging  through  a  dark  vaulted  passage  catches  a  dis 
tant  view  of  a  white  marble  figure  reclining  on  a  tomb,  on  which  a 
strong  glare  thrown  by  a  gas-light  has  quite  a  spectral  effect.  It  is 
a  mural  monument  of  one  of  the  Pultneys. 


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to  the  larger  life  of  the  nation,  and  to  the  literatures  of  England 
and  Europe,  for  only  so  can  American  literature  be  completely 
understood  and  its  significance  fully  perceived. 

The  writers  are  treated  with  admirable  critical  judgment. 
The  greater  writers  stand  out  strong  and  clean  cut  personalities. 
The  minor  are  given  brief,  but  clear,  treatment. 

While  the  book  lays  its  chief  emphasis  upon  matters  distinctly 
literary,  it  contains  exact  details  about  the  life  and  writings  of 
the  greater  authors,  and  is  abundantly  equipped  with  apparatus 
for  reference  and  study. 

The  Appendix  contains  nearly  forty  pages  of  extracts  from 
the  best  but  less  accessible  colonial  writers,  and  valuable  notes 
concerning  our  early  newspapers  and  magazines,  a  bibliography 
of  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  literature,  and  an  index. 

No  other  manual  of  American  literature  says  so  much  so 
well  in  so  little  space. — WALTER  H.  PAGE,  editor  of  The 
World*  s  Work,  recently  editor  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

Cloth.     474  pages.     Price,  80  cents. 


D.    C.    HEATH    &    CO.,    Publishers 

BOSTON  NEW    YORK  CHICAGO 


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GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.BERKELEY 


£274073 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


